• 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


SOLDIER  STORIES 


Soldier  Stories 


By  Rudyard  Kipling 


GARDEN  CITY         NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE   &  COMPANY 

1918 


COPYRIGHT,  1896, 
BY  MACMILLAN  AND  CO. 

COPYRIGHT,  1899, 
BY  RUDYARD  KIPLING 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD i 

THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT 25 

THE  MAN  WHO  WAS .  78 

THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH  SHADD 101 

THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY   ....  139 

THE  TAKING  OF  LUNGTUNGPEN      .   ' 182 

THE  MADNESS  OF  PRIVATE  ORTHERIS    .    "   .       .       .       .191 


5000901 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

TO  FACE  PAGE 
'PUT    VER   'EAD   BETWEEN    YOUR    LEGS.      IT'LL   GO    ORF    IN    A 

MINUTE* .  2 

'  HE  RAN   FORWARD  WID   THE   HAYMAKERS'  LIFT  ON  HIS 

BAY'NIT' 12 

HE  PICKED  HER  UP  IN  THE  GROWING  LIGHT,  AND  SET  HER 

ON  HIS  SHOULDER 23 

*HEY!     WHAT?     ARE  YOU  GOING  TO  ARGUE  WITH  ME?1 

SAID  THE  COLONEL 35 

CRIS  SLID  AN  ARM  ROUND  HIS  NECK       .       .       .       .       •    .   47 

THE  MEN  STROLLED  ACROSS  THE  TRACKS  TO  INSPECT  THE 

AFGHAN  PRISONERS 50 

THE  TUNE  SETTLED  INTO  FULL  SWING,  AND  THE  BOYS  KEPT 

SHOULDER  TO  SHOULDER 69 

'RUNG  HO,  HIRA  SINGH!' 85 

HE  FOUND  THE  SPRING 91 

IT   IS   NOT   GOOD   THAT  A   GENTLEMAN    WHO    CAN    ANSWER    TO 

THE  QUEEN'S  TOAST  SHOULD  LIE  AT  THE  FEET  OF  A 
SUBALTERN  OF  COSSACKS 94 

'THIN  WHIN  THE  KETTLE  WAS  TO  BE  FILLED,  DlNAH  CAME 

IN  —  MY  DINAH' 117 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

TO  PACE  PACK 

«"  MY  COLLAR-BONE'S  BRUK,"  SEZ  HE  ' 121 

'"THE  HALF  AV  THAT  I'LL  TAKE,"  SEZ  SHE'         .       .       -132 

'  "  OUT  OF  THIS,"  SEZ  HE.  "  I'M  IN  CHARGE  AV  THIS  SECTION 
AV  CONSTRUCTION." — "I'M  IN  CHARGE  AV  MESILF,"  SEZ 
I,  "  AN'  IT'S  LIKE  I  WILL  STAY  A  WHILE  "  '  .  .  .149 

'NINE   ROUN'S  THEY   WERE   EVEN   MATCHED,   AN'   AT  THE 

TENTH ' 157 

THERE  PRANCED  A  PORTENT  IN  THE  FACE  OF  THE  MOON       .      166 
'I  WAS  KRISHNA  TOOTLIN'  ON  THE  FLUTE'     .       .       .       .176 

'"SHTRIP,   BHOYS,"   SEZ   I.     "  SHTRIP   TO  THE  BUFF,   AN' 

SHWIM  IN  WHERE  GLORY  WAITS!  "' 185 

•THERE  WAS  A  MELLY  AV  A  SUMPSHUS  KIND  FOR  A  WHOILE'      187 
ORTHERIS  HEAVED  A  BIG  SIGH 192 

WE  SET  OFF  AT  THE  DOUBLE  AND  FOUND  HIM  PLUNGING  ABOUT 

WILDLY  THROUGH  THE  GRASS    .  2OI 


WITH   THE   MAIN   GUARD 

Der  jungere  Uhlanen 

Sit  round  mit  open  mouth 

While  Breitmann  tell  dem  stdories 

Of  fightin'  in  the  South ; 

Und  gif  dem  moral  lessons, 

How  before  der  battle  pops, 

Take  a  little  prayer  to  Himmel 

Und  a  goot  long  drink  of  Schnapps. 

Hans  Breitmann's  Ballads. 

•MARY,  Mother  av  Mercy,  fwhat  the  divil  possist 
us  to  take  an'  kape  this  melancolious  counthry  ? 
Answer  me  that,  Sorr.' 

It  was  Mulvaney  who  was  speaking.  The  time 
was  one  o'clock  of  a  stifling  June  night,  and  the 
place  was  the  main  gate  of  Fort  Amara,  most 
desolate  and  least  desirable  of  all  fortresses  in 
India.  What  I  was  doing  there  at  that  hour  is  a 
question  which  only  concerns  M'Grath  the  Sergeant 
of  the  Guard,  and  the  men  on  the  gate. 

'  Slape,'  said  Mulvaney,  '  is  a  shuparfluous  neces- 
sity. This  gyard'll  shtay  lively  till  relieved.'  He 


*  SOLDIER  STORIES 

himself  was  stripped  to  the  waist;  Learoyd  on  the 
next  bedstead  was  dripping  from  the  skinful  of 
water  which  Ortheris,  clad  only  in  white  trousers, 
had  just  sluiced  over  his  shoulders;  and  a  fourth 
private  was  muttering  uneasily  as  he  dozed  open- 
mouthed  in  the  glare  of  the  great  guard-lantern. 
The  heat  under  the  bricked  archway  was  terrify- 
ing. 

'  The  worrst  night  that  iver  I  remimber.  Eyah ! 
Is  all  Hell  loose  this  tide  ? '  said  Mulvaney.  A  puff 
of  burning  wind  lashed  through  the  wicket-gate 
like  a  wave  of  the  sea,  and  Ortheris  swore. 

'Are  ye  more  heasy,  Jock?'  he  said  to  Learoyd. 
'  Put  yer  'ead  between  your  legs.  It'll  go  orf  in 
a  minute.' 

'  Ah  don't  care.  Ah  would  not  care,  but  ma 
heart  is  plaayin'  tivvy-tiwy  on  ma  ribs.  Let  me 
die !  Oh,  leave  me  die ! '  groaned  the  huge  York- 
shireman,  who  was  feeling  the  heat  acutely,  being 
of  fleshly  build. 

The  sleeper  under  the  lantern  roused  for  a  mo- 
ment and  raised  himself  on  his  elbow.  — '  Die  and 
be  damned  then ! '  he  said.  '  7'm  damned  and  I 
can't  die ! ' 

'Who's  that?'  I  whispered,  for  the  voice  was 
new  to  me. 

'Gentleman  born,'  said  Mulvaney;  'Corp'ril  wan 
year,  Sargint  nex'.  Red-hot  on  his  C'mission,  but 


'  Put  yer  'ead  between  your  legs.     It'll  go  orf  in  a  minute.'  —  P.  2. 


WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD  3 

dhrinks  like  a  fish.  He'll  be  gone  before  the 
cowld  weather's  here.  So ! ' 

He  slipped  his  boot,  and  with  the  naked  toe 
just  touched  the  trigger  of  his  Martini.  Ortheris 
misunderstood  the  movement,  and  the  next  instant 
the  Irishman's  rifle  was  dashed  aside,  while  Ortheris 
stood  before  him,  his  eyes  blazing  with  reproof. 

'  You  ! '  said  Ortheris.  '  My  Gawd,  you  !  If  it 
was  you,  wot  would  we  do  ? ' 

'  Kape  quiet,  little  man,'  said  Mulvaney,  putting 
him  aside,  but  very  gently;  "tis  not  me,  nor  will 
ut  be  me  whoile  Dinah  Shadd's  here.  I  was  but 
showin'  something.' 

Learoyd,  bowed  on  his  bedstead,  groaned,  and  the 
gentleman-ranker  sighed  in  his  sleep.  Ortheris  took 
Mulvaney 's  tendered  pouch,  and  we  three  smoked 
gravely  for  a  space  while  the  dust-devils  danced  on 
the  glacis  and  scoured  the  red-hot  plain. 

'  Pop  ? '  said  Ortheris,  wiping  his  forehead. 

4  Don't  tantalise  wid  talkin'  av  dhrink,  or  I'll  shtuff 
you  into  your  own  breech-block  an'  —  fire  you  off ! ' 
grunted  Mulvaney. 

Ortheris  chuckled,  and  from  a  niche  in  the 
veranda  produced  six  bottles  of  gingerade. 

1  Where  did  ye  get  ut,  ye  Machiavel  ? '  said  Mul 
vaney.  '  'Tis  no  bazar  pop.' 

"Ow  do  Hi  know  wot  the  Orf'cers  drink?'  aa 
swered  Ortheris.  'Arst  the  mess-man.' 


4  SOLDIER  STORIES 

'Ye'll  have  a  Disthrict  Coort-Martial  settin'  on 
ye  yet,  me  son,'  said  Mulvaney,  'but'  —  he  opened 
a  bottle  —  'I  will  not  report  ye  this  time.  Fwhat's 
in  the  mess-kid  is  mint  for  the  belly,  as  they  say, 
'specially  whin  that  mate  is  dhrink.  Here's  luck ! 
A  bloody  war  or  a — no,  we've  got  the  sickly  season. 
War,  thin!'- — he  waved  the  innocent  'pop'  to  the 
four  quarters  of  heaven.  '  Bloody  war !  North, 
East,  South,  an'  West !  Jock,  ye  quackin'  hayrick, 
come  an'  dhrink.' 

But  Learoyd,  half  mad  with  the  fear  of  death 
presaged  in  the  swelling  veins  of  his  neck,  was 
begging  his  Maker  to  strike  him  dead,  and  fighting 
for  more  air  between  his  prayers.  A  second  time 
Ortheris  drenched  the  quivering  body  with  water, 
and  the  giant  revived. 

'An'  Ah  divn't  see  thot  a  mon  is  i'  fettle  for 
gooin'  on  to  live ;  an'  Ah  divn't  see  thot  there  is 
owt  for  t'  livin'  for.  Hear  now,  lads !  Ah'm  tired 
—  tired.  There's  nobbut  watter  i'  ma  bones.  Let 
me  die ! ' 

The  hollow  of  the  arch  gave  back  Learoyd's 
broken  whisper  in  a  bass  boom.  Mulvaney  looked 
at  me  hopelessly,  but  I  remembered  how  the  mad- 
ness of  despair  had  once  fallen  upon  Ortheris,  that 
weary,  weary  afternoon  in  the  banks  of  the  Khemi 
River,  and  how  it  had  been  exorcised  by  the  skilful 
magician  Mulvaney. 


WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD  5 

'Talk,  Terence!'  I  said,  'or  we  shall  have  Learoyd 
slinging  loose,  and  he'll  be  worse  than  Ortheris  was. 
Talk !  He'll  answer  to  your  voice.' 

Almost  before  Ortheris  had  deftly  thrown  all  the 
rifles  of  the  guard  on  Mulvaney's  bedstead,  the 
Irishman's  voice  was  uplifted  as  that  of  one  in 
the  middle  of  a  story,  and,  turning  to  me,  he 
said :  — 

'  In  barricks  or  out  of  it,  as  you  say,  Sorr,  an 
Oirish  rig'mint  is  the  divil  an'  more.  'Tis  only  fit 
for  a  young  man  wid  eddicated  fisteses.  Oh  the 
crame  av  disruption  is  an  Oirish  rig'mint,  an'  rippin', 
tearin',  ragin'  scattherers  in  the  field  av  war!  My 
first  rig'mint  was  Oirish — Faynians  an'  rebils  to  the 
heart  av  their  marrow  was  they,  an'  so  they  fought 
for  the-Widdy  betther  than  most,  bein'  contrairy  — 
Oirish.  They  was  the  Black  Tyrone.  You've  heard 
av  thim,  Sorr  ? ' 

Heard  of  them !  I  knew  the  Black  Tyrone  for 
the  choicest  collection  of  unmitigated  blackguards, 
dog-stealers,  robbers  of  hen-roosts,  assaulters  of  in- 
nocent citizens,  and  recklessly  daring  heroes  in  the 
Army  List.  Half  Europe  and  half  Asia  has  had 
cause  to  know  the  Black  Tyrone  —  good  luck  be 
with  their  tattered  Colours  as  Glory  has  ever  been ! 

'  They  was  hot  pickils  an'  ginger !  I  cut  a  man's 
head  tu  deep  wid  my  belt  in  the  days  av  my  youth, 
an',  afther  some  circumstances  which  I  will  oblither- 


6  SOLDIER  STORIES 

ate,  I  came  to  the  Ould  Rig'mint,  bearin'  the  char- 
acter av  a  man  wid  hands  an'  feet.  But,  as  I  was 
goin'  to  tell  you,  I  fell  acrost  the  Black  Tyrone 
agin  wan  day  whin  we  wanted  thim  powerful  bad. 
Orth'ris,  me  son,  fwhat  was  the  name  av  that  place 
where  they  sint  wan  comp'uy  av  us  an'  wan  av  the 
Tyrone  roun'  a  hill  an'  down  again,  all  for  to  tache 
the  Paythans  something  they'd  niver  learned  before  ? 
Afther  Ghuzni  'twas.' 

'  Don't  know  what  the  bloomin'  Paythans  called 
it.  We  called  it  Silver's  Theayter.  You  know  that, 
sure ! ' 

'Silver's  Theatre  —  so  'twas.  A  gut  betune  two 
hills,  as  black  as  a  bucket,  an'  as  thin  as  a  girl's 
waist.  There  was  over-many  Paythans  for  our  con- 
vaynience  in  the  gut,  an'  begad  they  called  thim- 
selves  a  Reserve  —  bein'  impident  by  natur' !  Our 
Scotchies  an'  lashins  av  Gurkys  was  poundin'  into 
some  Paythan  rig'ments,  I  think  'twas.  Scotchies 
and  Gurkys  are  twins  bekaze  they're  so  onlike,  an* 
they  get  dhrunk  together  when  God  plazes.  As  I 
was  sayin',  they  sint  wan  comp'ny  av  the  Ould  an' 
wan  av  the  Tyrone  to  double  up  the  hill  an'  clane 
out  the  Paythan  Reserve.  Orf'cers  was  scarce  in 
thim  days,  fwhat  wid  dysintry  an'  not  takin'  care  av 
thimselves,  an'  we  was  sint  out  wid  only  wan  orf'cer 
for  the  comp'ny;  but  he  was  a  Man  that  had  his 
feet  beneath  him,  an'  all  his  teeth  in  their  sockuts.' 


WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD  7 

'  Who  was  he  ? '  I  asked. 

'Captain  O'Neil  —  Old  Crook  —  Cruikna-bulleen 
—  him  that  I  tould  ye  that  tale  av  whin  he  was  in 
Burma.1  Hah !  He  was  a  Man.  The  Tyrone  tuk 
a  little  orf'cer  bhoy,  but  divil  a  bit  was  he  in  com- 
mand, as  I'll  dimonstrate  presintly.  We  an'  they 
came  over  the  brow  av  the  hill,  wan  on  each  side  av 
the  gut,  an'  there  was  that  ondacint  Reserve  waitin' 
down  below  like  rats  in  a  pit. 

1 "  Howld  on,  men,"  sez  Crook,  who  tuk  a  mother's 
care  av  us  always.  "  Rowl  some  rocks  on  thim  by 
way  av  visitin'-kyards."  We  hadn't  rowled  more 
than  twinty  bowlders,  an'  the  Paythans  was  begin- 
nin'  to  swear  tremenjus,  whin  the  little  orf'cer  bhoy 
av  the  Tyrone  shqueaks  out  acrost  the  valley:  — 
"  Fwhat  the  devil  an'  all  are  you  doin',  shpoilin'  the 
fun  for  my  men  ?  Do  ye  not  see  they'll  stand  ? " 

' "  Faith,  that's  a  rare  pluckt  wan ! "  sez  Crook. 
"  Niver  mind  the  rocks,  men.  Come  along  down  an1 
tak  tay  wid  thim !  " 

' "  There's  damned  little  sugar  in  ut ! "  sez  my 
rear-rank  man ;  but  Crook  heard. 

'  "  Have  ye  not  all  got  spoons  ? "  he  sez,  laughin', 
an'  down  we  wint  as  fast  as  we  cud.  Learoyd  bein1 
sick  at  the  Base,  he,  av  coorse,  was  not  there.' 

1  Now  first  of  the  foemen  of  Boh  Da  Thone 
Was  Captain  O'Neil  of  the  Black  Tyrone. 

The  Ballad  of  Boh  Da  Thone. 


8  SOLDIER  STORIES 

'  Thot's  a  lie ! '  said  Learoyd,  dragging  his  bed- 
stead nearer.  '  Ah  gotten  thot  theer,  an'  you  know 
it,  Mulvaney.'  He  threw  up  his  arms,  and  from  the 
right  arm-pit  ran,  diagonally  through  the  fell  of  his 
chest,  a  thin  white  line  terminating  near  the  fourth 
left  rib. 

'  My  mind's  goin','  said  Mulvaney,  the  unabashed. 
'  Ye  were  there.  Fwhat  was  I  thinkin'  of  ?  'Twas 
another  man,  av  coorse.  Well,  you'll  remimber  thin, 
Jock,  how  we  an'  the  Tyrone  met  wid  a  bang  at  the 
bottom  an'  got  jammed  past  all  movin'  among  the 
Paythans  ? ' 

'  Ow !  It  was  a  tight  'ole.  I  was  squeezed  till 
I  thought  I'd  bloomin'  well  bust,'  said  Ortheris, 
rubbing  his  stomach  meditatively. 

'  'Twas  no  place  for  a  little  man,  but  wan  little 
man'  —  Mulvaney  put  his  hand  on  Ortheris's  shoulder 
— '  saved  the  life  av  me.  There  we  shtuck,  for 
divil  a  bit  did  the  Paythans  flinch,  an'  divil  a  bit  dare 
we ;  our  business  bein'  to  clear  'em  out.  An'  the 
most  exthryordinar'  thing  av  all  was  that  we  an' 
they  just  rushed  into  each  other's  arrums,  an'  there 
was  no  firing  for  a  long  time.  Nothin'  but  knife 
an'  bay'nit  when  we  cud  get  our  hands  free:  an' 
that  was  not  often.  We  was  breast-on  to  thim,  ar 
the  Tyrone  was  yelpin'  behind  av  us  in  a  way  I 
didn't  see  the  lean  av  at  first.  But  I  knew  later, 
an'  so  did  the  Paythans. 


WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD  9 

' "  Knee  to  knee ! "  sings  out  Crook,  wid  a  laugh 
whin  the  rush  av  our  comin'  into  the  gut  shtopped, 
an'  he  was  huggin*  a  hairy  great  Paythan,  neither 
bein'  able  to  do  anything  to  the  other,  tho'  both  was 
wishful. 

1 "  Breast  to  breast ! "  he  sez,  as  the  Tyrone  was 
pushin'  us  forward  closer  an'  closer. 

' "  An'  hand  over  back ! "  sez  a  Sargint  that  was 
behin'.  I  saw  a  sword  lick  out  past  Crook's  ear,  an' 
the  Paythan  was  tuck  in  the  apple  av  his  throat  like 
a  pig  at  Dromeen  Fair. 

'"Thank  ye,  Brother  Inner  Guard,"  sez  Crook, 
cool  as  a  cucumber  widout  salt.  "  I  wanted  that 
room."  An'  he  wint  forward  by  the  thickness  av  a 
man's  body,  havin'  turned  the  Paythan  undher  him. 
The  man  bit  the  heel  off  Crook's  boot  in  his  death- 
bite. 

'  "  Push,  men  ! "  sez  Crook.  "  Push,  ye  paper- 
backed beggars ! "  he  sez.  "  Am  I  to  pull  ye 
through?"  So  we  pushed,  an'  we  kicked,  an'  we 
swung,  an'  we  swore,  an'  the  grass  bein'  slippery 
our  heels  wouldn't  bite,  an'  God  help  the  front-rank 
man  that  wint  down  that  day ! ' 

''Ave  you  ever  bin  in  the  Pit  hentrance  o'  the 
Vic.  on  a  thick  night?'  interrupted  Ortheris.  'It 
was  worse  nor  that,  for  they  was  goin'  one  way,  an' 
we  wouldn't  'ave  it.  Leastaways,  I  'adn't  much  to 
say.' 


10  SOLDIER  STORIES 

'  Faith,  me  son,  ye  said  ut,  thin.  I  kep'  the  little 
man  betune  my  knees  as  long  as  I  cud,  but  he  was 
pokin'  roun'  wid  his  bay'nit,  blindin'  and  stiffin' 
feroshus.  The  devil  of  a  man  is  Orth'ris  in  a  ruction 
—  aren't  ye  ? '  said  Mulvaney. 

'  Don't  make  game ! '  said  the  Cockney.  '  I 
knowed  I  wasn't  no  good  then,  but  I  guv  'em  compot 
from  the  lef '  flank  when  we  opened  out.  No ! '  he 
said,  bringing  down  his  hand  with  a  thump  on  the 
bedstead,  '  a  bay'nit  ain't  no  good  to  a  little  man  — 
might  as  well  'ave  a  bloomin'  fishin'-rod !  I  'ate  a 
clawin',  maulin'  mess,  but  gimme  a  breech  that's 
wore  out  a  bit,  an'  hamminition  one  year  in  store,  to 
let  the  powder  kiss  the  bullet,  an'  put  me  some- 
wheres  where  I  ain't  trod  on  by  'ulkin  swine  like 
you,  an'  s'elp  me  Gawd,  I  could  bowl  you  over 
five  times  outer  seven  at  height  'undred.  Would 
yer  try,  you  lumberin'  Hirishman  ? ' 

'  No,  ye  wasp.  I've  seen  ye  do  ut  I  say  there's 
nothin'  better  than  the  bay'nit,  wid  a  long  reach,  a 
double  twist  av  ye  can,  an'  a  slow  recover.' 

'Dom  the  bay'nit/  said  Learoyd,  who  had  been 
listening  intently.  '  Look  a-here ! '  He  picked  up 
a  rifle  an  inch  below  the  foresight  with  an  under- 
handed action,  and  used  it  exactly  as  a  man  would 
use  a  dagger. 

'  Sitha,'  said  he  softly,  '  thot's  better  than  owt,  for 
a  mon  can  bash  t'  faace  wi'  thot,  an',  if  he  divn't, 


WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD  II 

he  can  breeak  t'  forearm  o'  t'  gaard.  Tis  not  i'  t* 
books,  though.  Gie  me  t'  butt.' 

'  Each  does  ut  his  own  way,  like  makin*  love/ 
said  Mulvaney  quietly;  'the  butt  or  the  bay'nit  or 
the  bullet  accordin'  to  the  natur'  av  the  man.  Well, 
as  I  was  sayin',  we  shtuck  there  breathin'  in  each 
other's  faces  an'  swearin'  powerful ;  Orth'ris  cursin' 
the  mother  that  bore  him  bekaze  he  was  not  three 
inches  taller. 

'Prisintly  he  sez:  —  "Duck,  ye  lump,  an1  I  can 
get  at  a  man  over  your  shouldher ! " 

'"You'll  blow  me  head  off,"  I  sez,  throwin'  my 
arm  clear;  "go  through  under  my  arm-pit,  ye 
blood-thirsty  little  scutt,"  sez  I,  "but  don't  shtick 
me  or  I'll  wring  your  ears  round." 

'  Fwhat  was  ut  ye  gave  the  Paythan  man  forninst 
me,  him  that  cut  at  me  whin  I  cudn't  move  hand 
or  foot  ?  Hot  or  cowld  was  ut  ? ' 

'Cold,'  said  Ortheris,  'up  an'  under  the  rib-jint 
'E  come  down  flat.  Best  for  you  'e  did.' 

'Thrue,  my  son!  This  jam  thing  that  I'm  talkin" 
about  lasted  for  five  minutes  good,  an'  thin  we  got 
our  arms  clear  an'  wint  in.  I  misremimber  exactly 
fwhat  I  did,  but  I  didn't  want  Dinah  to  be  a 
widdy  at  the  Depot.  Thin,  after  some  promishku- 
ous  hackin'  we  shtuck  again,  an'  the  Tyrone  behin* 
was  callin*  us  dogs  an'  cowards  an'  all  manner  av 
names;  we  barrin'  their  way. 


If  SOLDIER  STORIES 

' "  Fwhat  ails  the  Tyrone  ? "  thinks  I ;  "  they've 
the  makin's  av  a  most  convanient  fight  here." 

'A  man  behind  me  sez  beseechful  an*  in  a 
whisper :  — "  Let  me  get  at  thim  !  For  the  love  av 
Mary  give  me  room  beside  ye,  ye  tall  man ! " 

' "  An'  who  are  you  that's  so  anxious  to  be  kilt  ?  " 
sez  I,  widout  turnin'  my  head,  for  the  long  knives 
was  dancin'  in  front  like  the  sun  on  Donegal  Bay 
when  ut's  rough. 

'"We've  seen  our  dead,"  he  sez,  squeezin'  into 
me ;  "  our  dead  that  was  men  two  days  gone !  An' 
me  that  was  his  cousin  by  blood  could  not  bring 
Tim  Coulan  off  ?  Let  me  get  on,"  he  sez,  "  let  me 
get  to  thim  or  I'll  run  ye  through  the  back!" 

' "  My  troth,"  thinks  I,  "  if  the  Tyrone  have  seen 
their  dead,  God  help  the  Paythans  this  day !  "  An' 
thin  I  knew  why  the  Oirish  was  ragin'  behind  us 
as  they  was. 

'  I  gave  room  to  the  man,  an*  he  ran  forward 
wid  the  Haymakers'  Lift  on  his  bay'nit  an'  swung 
a  Paythan  clear  off  his  feet  by  the  belly-band  av 
the  brute,  an'  the  iron  bruk  at  the  lockin'-ring. 

'"Tim  Coulan'll  slape  easy  to-night,"  sez  he 
wid  a  grin ;  an'  the  next  minut  his  head  was  in 
two  halves  and  he  wint  down  grinnin'  by  sections. 

'The  Tyrone  was  pushin'  an'  pushin'  in,  an'  our 
men  were  swearin'  at  thim,  an'  Crook  was  workin* 
away  in  front  av  us  all,  his  sword-arm  swingin'  like 


1  He  ran  forward  wid  the  Haymakers'  Lift  on  his  bay'nit.'  —  P.  12. 


WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD  13 

a  pump-handle,  an'  his  revolver  spittin'  like  a  cat. 
But  the  strange  thing  av  ut  was  the  quiet  that  lay 
upon.  'Twas  like  a  fight  in  a  drame  —  except  for 
thim  that  was  dead. 

'Whin  I  gave  room  to  the  Oirishman  I  was 
expinded  an'  forlorn  in  my  inside.  'Tis  a  way  I 
have,  savin'  your  presince,  Sorr,  in  action.  "Let 
me  out,  bhoys,"  sez  I,  backin'  in  among  thim. 
"  I'm  goin'  to  be  onwell ! "  Faith  they  gave  me 
room  at  the  wurrd,  though  they  would  not  ha' 
given  room  for  all  Hell  wid  the  chill  off.  When 
I  got  clear,  I  was,  savin'  your  presince,  Sorr,  out- 
ragis  sick  bekaze  I  had  dhrunk  heavy  that  day. 

'  Well  an'  far  out  av  harm  was  a  Sargint  av  the 
Tyrone  sittin'  on  the  little  orf'cer  bhoy  who  had 
stopped  Crook  from  rowlin'  the  rocks.  Oh,  he  was 
a  beautiful  bhoy,  an'  the  long  black  curses  was 
sliding  out  av  his  innocint  mouth  like  morning-jew 
from  a  rose! 

'"Fwhat  have  you  got  there?"  sez  I  to  the 
Sargint. 

' "  Wan  av  Her  Majesty's  bantams  wid  his  spurs 
up,"  sez  he.  "  He's  goin'  to  Coort-Martial  me." 

1  "  Let  me  go!  "  sez  the  little  orf'cer  bhoy.  "  Let 
me  go  and  command  my  men ! "  manin'  thereby 
the  Black  Tyrone  which  was  beyond  any  command 
—  ay,  even  av  they  had  made  the  Divil  a  Field- 
Orf'cer. 


14  SOLDIER  STORIES 

' "  His  father  howlds  my  mother's  cow-feed  in 
Clonmel,"  sez  the  man  that  was  sittin'  on  him. 
"Will  I  go  back  to  his  mother  an'  tell  her  that 
I've  let  him  throw  himself  away  ?  Lie  still,  ye  little 
pinch  av  dynamite,  an'  Coort-Martial  me  aftherwards." 

' "  Good,"  sez  I ;  "  'tis  the  likes  av  him  makes 
the  likes  av  the  Commandher-in-Chief,  but  we  must 
presarve  thim.  Fwhat  d'you  want  to  do,  Sorr  ? " 
sez  I,  very  politeful. 

'"Kill  the  beggars  — kill  the  beggars!"  he 
shqueaks,  his  big  blue  eyes  brimmin'  wid  tears. 

"'An'  how'll  ye  do  that?"  sez  I.  "You've 
shquibbed  off  your  revolver  like  a  child  wid  a 
cracker;  you  can  make  no  play  wid  that  fine 
large  sword  av  yours ;  an'  your  hand's  shakin'  like 
an  asp  on  a  leaf.  Lie  still  and  grow,"  sez  I. 

'"Get  back  to  your  comp'ny,"  sez  he;  "you're 
insolint ! " 

'"All  in  good  time,"  sez  I,  "but  I'll  have  a 
dhrink  first" 

'Just  thin  Crook  comes  up,  blue  an'  white  all 
over  where  he  wasn't  red. 

'"Wather!"  sez  he;  "I'm  dead  wid  drouth! 
Oh,  but  it's  a  gran'  day!" 

'He  dhrank  half  a  skinful,  and  the  rest  he  tilts 
into  his  chest,  an'  it  fair  hissed  on  the  hairy  hide 
av  him.  He  sees  the  little  orf 'cer  bhoy  undher  the 
Sargint. 


WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD  15 

'"Fwhat's  yonder?"  sez  he. 

' "  Mutiny,  Sorr,"  sez  the  Sargint,  an'  the  orf'cer 
bhoy  begins  pleadin'  pitiful  to  Crook  to  be  let  go . 
but  divil  a  bit  wud  Crook  budge. 

4  "  Kape  him  there,"  he  sez,  "  'tis  no  child's  work 
this  day.  By  the  same  token,"  sez  he,  "I'll  con- 
fishcate  that  il>g2.nt  nickel-plated  scent-sprinkler  av 
yours,  for  my  own  has  been  vomitin'  dishgrace- 
ful!" 

'The  fork  av  his  hand  was  black  wid  the  back- 
spit  av  the  machine.  So  he  tuk  the  orf'cer  bhoy's 
revolver.  Ye  may  look,  Sorr,  but,  by  my  faith, 
there  s  a  dale  more  done  in  the  field  than  iver  gets 
into  Field  Ordhers  ! 

'"Come  on,  Mulvaney,"  sez  Crook;  "is  this  a 
Coort-Martial  ? "  The  two  av  us  wint  back  to- 
gether into  the  mess  an'  the  Paythans  were  still 
standin'  up.  They  was  not  too  impart'nint  though, 
for  the  Tyrone  was  callin'  wan  to  another  to  re- 
mimber  Tim  Coulan. 

'  Crook  stopped  outside  av  the  strife  an*  looked 
anxious,  his  eyes  rowlin'  roun'. 

' "  Fwhat  is  ut,  Sorr  ? "  sez  I ;  "  can  I  get  ye 
anything  ? " 

'"Where's  a  bugler?"  sez  he. 

'  I  wint  into  the  crowd  —  our  men  was  dhrawin' 
breath  behin'  the  Tyrone  who  was  fightin'  like 
sowls  in  tormint  —  an'  prisintly  I  came  acrost  little 


1 6  SOLDIER  STORIES 

Frehan,  our  bugler  bhoy,  pokin'  roun'  among  th& 
best  wid  a  rifle  an'  bay'nit. 

' "  Is  amusin'  yoursilf  f what  you're  paid  for,  ye 
limb  ? "  sez  I,  catchin'  him  by  the  scruff.  "  Come 
out  av  that  an'  attind  to  your  duty,"  I  sez;  but 
the  bhoy  was  not  pleased. 

' "  I've  got  wan,"  sez  he,  grinnin',  "  big  as  you, 
Mulvaney,  an'  fair  half  as  ugly.  Let  me  go  get 
another." 

'I  was  dishpleased  at  the  personability  av  that 
remark,  so  I  tucks  him  under  my  arm  an'  carries 
him  to  Crook  who  was  watchin'  how  the  fight 
wint.  Crook  cuffs  him  till  the  bhoy  cries,  an'  thin 
sez  nothin'  for  a  whoile. 

'The  Paythans  began  to  flicker  onaisy,  an'  our 
men  roared.  "  Opin  ordher !  Double !  "  sez  Crook. 
"  Blow,  child,  blow  for  the  honour  av  the  British 
Arrmy!" 

'That  bhoy  blew  like  a  typhoon,  an'  the  Tyrone 
an*  we  opined  out  as  the  Paythans  broke,  an*  I 
saw  that  fwhat  had  gone  before  wud  be  kissin' 
an'  huggin'  to  fwhat  was  to  come.  We'd  dhruv 
them  into  a  broad  part  av  the  gut  whin  they  gave, 
an'  thin  we  opined  out  an'  fair  danced  down  the 
valley,  dhrivin'  thim  before  us.  Oh,  'twas  lovely, 
an'  stiddy,  too!  There  was  the  Sargints  on  the 
flanks  av  what  was  left  av  us,  kapin'  touch,  an' 
the  fire  was  runnin'  from  flank  to  flank,  an'  the 


WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD  17 

Paythans  was  dhroppin*.  We  opined  out  wid  the 
widenin'  av  the  valley,  an'  whin  the  valley  nar- 
rowed we  closed  again  like  the  shticks  on  a  lady's 
fan,  an'  at  the  far  ind  av  the  gut  where  they 
thried  to  stand,  we  fair  blew  them  off  their  feet, 
for  we  had  expinded  very  little  ammunition  by 
reason  av  the  knife  work.' 

'  Hi  used  thirty  rounds  goin'  down  that  valley,' 
said  Ortheris,  '  an*  it  was  gentleman's  work.  Might 
'a'  done  it  in  a  white  'andkerchief  an*  pink  silk 
stockin's,  that  part.  Hi  was  on  in  that  piece.' 

'You  could  ha'  heard  the  Tyrone  yellin'  a  mile 
away,'  said  Mulvaney,  'an*  'twas  all  their  Sargint; 
cud  do  to  get  thim  off.  They  was  mad  —  mad  — 
mad !  Crook  sits  down  in  the  quiet  that  fell  when 
we  had  gone  down  the  valley,  an*  covers  his 
face  wid  his  hands.  Prisintly  we  all  came  back 
again  accordin'  to  our  natures  and  disposishins,  for 
they,  mark  you,  show  through  the  hide  av  a  man  in 
that  hour. 

'"Bhoys!  bhoys!"  sez  Crook  to  himself.  "I 
misdoubt  we  could  ha'  engaged  at  long  range  an' 
saved  betther  men  than  me."  He  looked  at  our 
dead  an'  said  no  more. 

' "  Captain  dear,"  sez  a  man  av  the  Tyrone,  comin' 

up  wid  his  mouth  bigger  than  iver  his  mother  kissed 

ut,  spittin'  blood  like  a  whale ;  "  Captain  dear,"  sez 

he,  "  if  wan  or  two  in  the  shtalls  have  been  discom- 

c 


*8  SOLDIER  STORIES 

moded,  the  gallery  have  enjoyed  the  performinces  a> 
a  Roshus." 

'Thin  I  knew  that  man  for  the  Dublin  dock-rat 
he  was  —  wan  av  the  bhoys  that  made  the  lessee  av 
Silver's  Theatre  gray  before  his  time  wid  tearin*  out 
the  bowils  av  the  benches  an'  t'rowin"  thim  into  the 
pit.  So  I  passed  the  wurrud  that  I  knew  when  I 
was  in  the  Tyrone  an'  we  lay  in  Dublin.  "  I  don't 
know  who  'twas,"  I  whispers,  "  an'  I  don't  care,  but 
anyways  I'll  knock  the  face  av  you,  Tim  Kelly." 

' "  Eyah !  "  sez  the  man,  "  was  you  there  too  ? 
We'll  call  ut  Silver's  Theatre."  Half  the  Tyrone, 
knowin'  the  ould  place,  tuk  ut  up :  so  we  called  ut 
Silver's  Theatre. 

'  The  little  orf 'cer  bhoy  av  the  Tyrone  was  threm- 
blin'  an'  cryin'.  He  had  no  heart  for  the  Coort- 
Martials  that  he  talked  so  big  upon.  "  Ye'll  do  well 
later,"  sez  Crook  very  quiet,  "  for  not  bein'  allowed 
to  kill  yourself  for  amusemint." 

4  "  I'm  a  dishgraced  man ! "  sez  the  little  orf 'cer  bhoy. 

' "  Put  me  undher  arrest,  Sorr,  if  you  will,  but,  by 
my  sowl,  I'd  do  ut  again  sooner  than  face  your 
mother  wid  you  dead,"  sez  the  Sargint  that  had  sat 
on  his  head,  standin'  to  attention  an'  salutin'.  But 
the  young  wan  only  cried  as  tho'  his  little  heart  was 
breakin'. 

'  Thin  another  man  av  the  Tyrone  came  up,  wid 
the  fog  av  fightin*  on  him.' 


WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD  19 

'  The  what,  Mulvaney  ? ' 

'Fog  av  fightin'.  You  know,  Sorr,  that,  like 
makin'  love,  ut  takes  each  man  diff'rint.  Now  I 
can't  help  bein'  powerful  sick  whin  I'm  in  action. 
Orth'ris,  here,  niver  stops  swearin'  from  ind  to  ind, 
an'  the  only  time  that  Learoyd  opins  his  mouth  to 
sing  is  whin  he  is  messin*  wid  other  people's  heads ; 
for  he's  a  dhirty  fighter  is  Jock.  Recruities  some- 
time cry,  an'  sometime  they  don't  know  fwhat  they 
do,  an'  sometime  they  are  all  for  cuttin'  throats  an' 
such-like  dirtiness;  but  some  men  get  heavy-dead- 
dhrunk  on  the  fightin'.  This  man  was.  He  was 
staggerin',  an'  his  eyes  were  half-shut,  an'  we  cud 
hear  him  dhraw  breath  twinty  yards  away.  He 
sees  the  little  orf'cer  bhoy,  an'  comes  up,  talkin' 
thick  an'  drowsy  to  himsilf.  "  Blood  the  young 
whelp !  "  he  sez ;  "  blood  the  young  whelp ; "  an'  wid 
that  he  threw  up  his  arms,  shpun  roun',  an'  dropped 
at  our  feet,  dead  as  a  Paythan,  an'  there  was  niver 
sign  or  scratch  on  him.  They  said  'twas  his  heart 
was  rotten,  but  oh,  'twas  a  quare  thing  to  see! 

'Thin  we  went  to  bury  our  dead,  for  we  wud 
not  lave  thim  to  the  Paythans,  an'  in  movin'  among 
the  haythen  we  nearly  lost  that  little  orf'cer  bhoy. 
He  was  for  givin'  wan  divil  wather  and  lay  in'  him 
aisy  against  a  rock.  "  Be  careful,  Sorr,"  sez  I ;  "  a 
wounded  Paythan's  worse  than  a  live  wan."  My 
troth,  before  the  words  was  out  of  my  mouth,  the 


SOLDIER  STORIES 

man  on  the  ground  fires  at  the  orf'cer  bhoy  lanin* 
over  him,  an*  I  saw  the  helmit  fly.  I  dropped  the 
butt  on  the  face  av  the  man  an'  tuk  his  pistol.  The 
little  orf'cer  bhoy  turned  very  white,  for  the  hair  av 
half  his  head  was  singed  away. 

' "  I  tould  you  so,  Sorr,"  sez  I ;  an',  afther  that, 
when  he  wanted  to  help  a  Paythan  I  stud  wid  the 
muzzle  contagious  to  the  ear.  They  dare  not  do 
anythin'  but  curse.  The  Tyrone  was  growlin'  like 
dogs  over  a  bone  that  has  been  taken  away  too 
soon,  for  they  had  seen  their  dead  an'  they  wanted 
to  kill  ivry  sowl  on  the  ground.  Crook  tould  thim 
that  he'd  blow  the  hide  off  any  man  that  miscon- 
ducted himself;  but,  seeing  that  ut  was  the  first 
time  the  Tyrone  had  iver  seen  their  dead,  I  do  not 
wondher  they  were  on  the  sharp.  'Tis  a  shameful 
sight!  Whin  I  first  saw  ut  I  wud  niver  ha'  given 
quarter  to  any  man  not  of  the  Khaibar  —  no,  nor 
woman  either,  for  the  women  used  to  come  out 
afther  dhark  —  Auggrh! 

'Well,  evenshually  we  buried  our  dead  an'  tuk 
away  our  wounded,  an'  come  over  the  brow  av  the 
hills  to  see  the  Scotchies  an'  the  Gurkys  taking 
tay  with  the  Paythans  in  bucketsfuls.  We  were  a 
gang  av  dissolute  ruffians,  for  the  blood  had  caked 
the  dust,  an'  the  sweat  had  cut  the  cake,  an'  our 
bay'nits  was  hangin'  like  butchers'  steels  betune  ur 
legs,  an'  most  av  us  were  marked  one  way  or  another. 


WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD  at 

'A  Staff  Orf'cer  man,  clean  as  a  new  rifle,  rides 
up  an'  sez:  "What  damned  scarecrows  are  you?" 

' "  A  comp'ny  av  Her  Majesty's  Black  Tyrone  an* 
•van  av  the  Ould  Rig'mint,"  sez  Crook  very  quiet, 
^jivin'  our  visitors  the  flure  as  'twas. 

'"Oh!"  sez  the  Staff  Orf'cer;  "did  you  dislodge 
that  Reserve?" 

'"No!"  sez  Crook,  an'  the  Tyrone  laughed. 

'"Thin  fwhat  the  divil  have  ye  done?" 

'"Disthroyed  ut,"  sez  Crook,  an'  he  took  us  on, 
but  not  before  Toomey  that  was  in  the  Tyrone 
sez  aloud,  his  voice  somewhere  in  his  stummick: 
"Fwhat  in  the  name  av  misfortune  does  this  parrit 
widout  a  tail  mane  by  shtoppin'  the  road  av  his 
betthers  ? " 

'The  Staff  Orf'cer  wint  blue,  an*  Toomey  makes 
him  pink  by  changin'  to  the  voice  av  a  minowderin' 
woman  an'  sayin':  "Come  an'  kiss  me,  Major  dear, 
for  me  husband's  at  the  wars  an'  I'm  all  alone  at 
the  Depot." 

'  The  Staff  Orf'cer  wint  away,  an'  I  cud  see 
Crook's  shoulthers  shakin'. 

'His  Corp'ril  checks  Toomey.  "Lave  me  alone," 
sez  Toomey,  widout  a  wink.  "I  was  his  batman 
before  he  was  married  an'  he  knows  fwhat  I  mane, 
av  you  don't.  There's  nothin'  like  livin*  in  the 
height  av  society."  D'you  remimber  that,  Orth'ris!' 

'  Hi  do.     Toomey,  'e  died  in  'orspital,  next  week 


22  SOLDIER  STORIES 

it  was,  'cause  I  bought  'arf  his  kit ;  an'  I  remember 
after  that ' 

'GUARRD,   TURN   OUT!' 

The  Relief  had  come;  it  was  four  o'clock.  Til 
catch  a  kyart  for  you,  Sorr,'  said  Mulvaney,  diving 
hastily  into  his  accoutrements.  'Come  up  to  the 
top  av  the  Fort  an'  we'll  pershue  our  invistiga- 
tions  into  M'Grath's  shtable.'  The  relieved  guard 
strolled  round  the  main  bastion  on  its  way  to  the 
swimming-bath,  and  Learoyd  grew  almost  talkative. 
Ortheris  looked  into  the  Fort  ditch  and  across  the 
plain.  4  Ho !  it's  weary  waitin'  for  Ma-ary ! '  he 
hummed;  'but  I'd  like  to  kill  some  more  bloomin' 
Paythans  before  my  time's  up.  War !  Bloody  war ! 
North,  East,  South,  and  West.' 

'Amen,'  said  Learoyd  slowly. 

'Fwhat's  here?'  said  Mulvaney,  checking  at  a 
blur  of  white  by  the  foot  of  the  old  sentry-box.  He 
stooped  and  touched  it.  '  It's  Norah  —  Norah  M'Tag- 
gart !  Why,  Nonie  darlin',  fwhat  are  ye  doin'  out 
av  your  mother's  bed  at  this  time  ? ' 

The  two-year-old  child  of  Sergeant  M'Taggart 
must  have  wandered  for  a  breath  of  cool  air  to  the 
very  verge  of  the  parapet  of  the  Fort  ditch.  Her 
tiny  night-shift  was  gathered  into  a  wisp  round  her 
neck  and  she  moaned  in  her  sleep.  '  See  there ! ' 
said  Mulvaney ;  '  poor  lamb !  Look  at  the  heat-rash 
on  the  innocint  skin  av  her.  'Tis  hard  —  crool  hard 


He  picked  her  up  in  the  growing  light,  and  set  her  on  his  shoulder.  —  P.  23. 


WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD  »3 

even  for  us.  Fwhat  must  it  be  for  these?  Wake 
up,  Nonie,  your  mother  will  be  woild  about  you. 
Begad,  the  child  might  ha'  fallen  into  the  ditch ! ' 

He  picked  her  up  in  the  growing  light,  and  set 
her  on  his  shoulder,  and  her  fair  curls  touched  the 
grizzled  stubble  of  his  temples.  Ortheris  and  Lea- 
royd  followed  snapping  their  fingers,  while  Norah 
smiled  at  them  a  sleepy  smile.  Then  carolled 
Mulvaney,  clear  as  a  lark,  dancing  the  baby  on 
his  arm :  — 

'  If  any  young  man  should  marry  you, 

Say  nothin'  about  the  joke ; 
That  iver  ye  slep1  in  a  sinthry-box, 
Wrapped  up  in  a  soldier's  cloak. 

'Though,  on  my  sowl,  Nonie,'  he  said  gravely, 
'  there  was  not  much  cloak  about  you.  Niver  mind, 
you  won't  dhress  like  this  ten  years  to  come.  Kiss 
your  friends  an'  run  along  to  your  mother.' 

Nonie,  set  down  close  to  the  Married  Quarters, 
nodded  with  the  quiet  obedience  of  the  soldier's  child, 
but,  ere  she  pattered  off  over  the  flagged  path,  held 
up  her  lips  to  be  kissed  by  the  Three  Musketeers. 
Ortheris  wiped  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand 
and  swore  sentimentally ;  Learoyd  turned  pink  ;  and 
the  two  walked  away  together.  The  Yorkshireman 
lifted  up  his  voice  and  gave  in  thunder  the  chorus 
of  The  Sentry  Box,  while  Ortheris  piped  at  his  side. 

"Bin  to  a  bloomin'  sing-song,  you  two?'  said  the 


34  SOLDIER  STORIES 

Artilleryman,  who  was  taking  his  cartridge  down  to 
the  Morning  Gun.  'You're  over  merry  for  these 
dashed  days.' 

'  I  bid  ye  take  care  o'  the  brat,  said  he, 
For  it  comes  of  a  noble  race,' 

Learoyd  bellowed.  The  voices  died  out  in  the 
swimming-bath. 

'  Oh,  Terence ! '  I  said,  dropping  into  Mulvaney's 
speech,  when  we  were  alone,  '  it's  you  that  have  the 
Tongue ! ' 

He  looked  at  me  wearily;  his  eyes  were  sunk  in 
his  head,  and  his  face  was  drawn  and  white.  '  Eyah ! ' 
said  he ;  'I've  blandandhered  thim  through  the  night 
somehow,  but  can  thim  that  helps  others  help  thim- 
selves  ?  Answer  me  that,  Sorr ! ' 

And  over  the  bastions  of  Fort  Amara  broke  the 
pitiless  day. 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT 

IN  the  Army  List  they  still  stand  as  'The  Fore 
and  Fit  Princess  Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen-Aus- 
pach's  Merthyr-Tydfilshire  Own  Royal  Loyal  Light 
Infantry,  Regimental  District  329A,'  but  the  Army 
through  all  its  barracks  and  canteens  knows  them 
now  as  the  '  Fore  and  Aft.'  They  may  in  time  do 
something  that  shall  make  their  new  title  honour- 
able, but  at  present  they  are  bitterly  ashamed,  and 
the  man  who  calls  them  '  Fore  and  Aft '  does  so  at 
the  risk  of  the  head  which  is  on  his  shoulders. 

Two  words  breathed  into  the  stables  of  a  certain 
Cavalry  Regiment  will  bring  the  men  out  into  the 
streets  with  belts  and  mops  and  bad  language ;  but 
a  whisper  of  '  Fore  and  Aft '  will  bring  out  this 
regiment  with  rifles. 

Their  one  excuse  is  that  they  came  again  and 
did  their  best  to  finish  the  job  in  style.  But  for  a 
time  all  their  world  knows  that  they  were  openly 
beaten,  whipped,  dumb-cowed,  shaking,  and  afraid. 

*5 


a6  SOLDIER  STORIES 

The  men  know  it;  their  officers  know  it;  the  Horse 
Guards  know  it,  and  when  the  next  war  comes  the 
enemy  will  know  it  also.  There  are  two  or  three 
regiments  of  the  Line  that  have  a  black  mark 
against  their  names  which  they  will  then  wipe  out; 
and  it  will  be  excessively  inconvenient  for  the  troops 
upon  whom  they  do  their  wiping. 

The  courage  of  the  British  soldier  is  officially 
supposed  to  be  above  proof,  and,  as  a  general  rule, 
it  is  so.  The  exceptions  are  decently  shovelled  out 
of  sight,  only  to  be  referred  to  in  the  freshest  of 
unguarded  talk  that  occasionally  swamps  a  Mess- 
table  at  midnight.  Then  one  hears  strange  and 
horrible  stories  of  men  not  following  their  officers, 
of  orders  being  given  by  those  who  had  no  right  to 
give  them,  and  of  disgrace  that,  but  for  the  stand- 
ing luck  of  the  British  Army,  might  have  ended  in 
brilliant  disaster.  These  are  unpleasant  stories  to 
listen  to,  and  the  Messes  tell  them  under  their 
breath,  sitting  by  the  big  wood  fires ;  and  the  young 
officer  bows  his  head  and  thinks  to  himself,  please 
God,  his  men  shall  never  behave  unhandily. 

The  British  soldier  is  not  altogether  to  be  blamed 
for  occasional  lapses ;  but  this  verdict  he  should  not 
know.  A  moderately  intelligent  General  will  waste 
six  months  in  mastering  the  craft  of  the  particular 
war  that  he  may  be  waging ;  a  Colonel  may  utterly 
misunderstand  the  capacity  of  his  regiment  for  three 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  27 

months  after  it  has  taken  the  field;  and  even  a 
Company  Commander  may  err  and  be  deceived  as 
to  the  temper  and  temperament  of  his  own  hand- 
ful :  wherefore  the  soldier,  and  the  soldier  of  to-day 
more  particularly,  should  not  be  blamed  for  falling 
back.  He  should  be  shot  or  hanged  afterwards  — 
to  encourage  the  others;  but  he  should  not  be  vili- 
fied in  newspapers,  for  that  is  want  of  tact  and 
waste  of  space. 

He  has,  let  us  say,  been  in  the  service  of  the 
Empress  for,  perhaps,  four  years.  He  will  leave  in 
another  two  years.  He  has  no  inherited  morals,  and 
four  years  are  not  sufficient  to  drive  toughness  into 
his  fibre,  or  to  teach  him  how  holy  a  thing  is  his 
Regiment.  He  wants  to  drink,  he  wants  to  enjoy 
himself  —  in  India  he  wants  to  save  money  —  and 
he  does  not  in  the  least  like  getting  hurt.  He  has 
received  just  sufficient  education  to  make  him  under- 
stand half  the  purport  of  the  orders  he  receives,  and 
to  speculate  on  the  nature  of  clean,  incised,  and 
shattering  wounds.  Thus,  if  he  is  told  to  deploy 
under  fire  preparatory  to  an  attack,  he  knows  that 
he  runs  a  very  great  risk  of  being  killed  while  he  is 
deploying,  and  suspects  that  he  is  being  thrown  away 
to  gain  ten  minutes'  time.  He  may  either  deploy 
with  desperate  swiftness,  or  he  may  shuffle,  or  bunch, 
or  break,  according  to  the  discipline  under  which  he 
has  lain  for  four  years. 


a*  SOLDIER  STORIES 

Armed  with  imperfect  knowledge,  cursed  with 
the  rudiments  of  an  imagination,  hampered  by  the 
intense  selfishness  of  the  lower  classes,  and  unsup- 
ported by  any  regimental  associations,  this  young 
man  is  suddenly  introduced  to  an  enemy  who  in 
eastern  lands  is  always  ugly,  generally  tall  and  hairy, 
and  frequently  noisy.  If  he  looks  to  the  right  and 
the  left  and  sees  old  soldiers  —  men  of  twelve  years' 
service,  who,  he  knows,  know  what  they  are  about  — 
taking  a  charge,  rush,  or  demonstration  without 
embarrassment,  he  is  consoled  and  applies  his 
shoulder  to  the  butt  of  his  rifle  with  a  stout  heart. 
His  peace  is  the  greater  if  he  hears  a  senior,  who 
has  taught  him  his  soldiering  and  broken  his  head 
on  occasion,  whispering  :  '  They'll  shout  and  carry 
on  like  this  for  five  minutes.  Then  they'll  rush  in, 
and  then  we've  got  'em  by  the  short  hairs ! ' 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  he  sees  only  men  of 
his  own  term  of  service,  turning  white  and  playing 
with  their  triggers  and  saying :  '  What  the  Hell's  up 
now  ? '  while  the  Company  Commanders  are  sweating 
into  their  sword-hilts  and  shouting :  '  Front-rank,  fix 
bayonets.  Steady  there  —  steady!  Sight  for  three 
hundred  —  no,  for  five !  Lie  down,  all !  Steady ! 
Front-rank  kneel ! '  and  so  forth,  he  becomes  un- 
happy ;  and  grows  acutely  miserable  when  he  hears 
a  comrade  turn  over  with  the  rattle  of  fire-irons 
falling  into  the  fender,  and  the  grunt  of  a  pole-axed 


THE   DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  29 

ox.  If  he  can  be  moved  about  a  little  and  allowed 
to  watch  the  effect  of  his  own  fire  on  the  enemy 
he  feels  merrier,  and  may  be  then  worked  up  to 
the  blind  passion  of  fighting,  which  is,  contrary  to 
general  belief,  controlled  by  a  chilly  Devil  and 
shakes  men  like  ague.  If  he  is  not  moved  about, 
and  begins  to  feel  cold  at  the  pit  of  the  stomach, 
and  in  that  crisis  is  badly  mauled  and  hears  orders 
that  were  never  given,  he  will  break,  and  he  will 
break  badly;  and  of  all  things  under  the  light  of 
the  Sun  there  is  nothing  more  terrible  than  a  broken 
British  regiment.  When  the  worst  comes  to  the 
worst  and  the  panic  is  really  epidemic,  the  men 
must  be  e'en  let  go,  and  the  Company  Commanders 
had  better  escape  to  the  enemy  and  stay  there  for 
safety's  sake.  If  they  can  be  made  to  come  again 
they  are  not  pleasant  men  to  meet;  because  they 
will  not  break  twice. 

About  thirty  years  from  this  date,  when  we  have 
succeeded  in  half-educating  everything  that  wears 
trousers,  our  Army  will  be  a  beautifully  unreliable 
machine.  It  will  know  too  much  and  it  will  do  too 
little.  Later  still,  when  all  men  are  at  the  mental 
level  of  the  officer  of  to-day,  it  will  sweep  the  earth. 
Speaking  roughly,  you  must  employ  either  black- 
guards or  gentlemen,  or,  best  of  all,  blackguards 
commanded  by  gentlemen,  to  do  butcher's  work  with 
efficiency  and  despatch.  The  ideal  soldier  should,  of 


30  SOLDIER  STORIES 

course,  think  for  himself  —  the  Pocket-book  says  so. 
Unfortunately,  to  attain  this  virtue  he  has  to  pass 
through  the  phase  of  thinking  of  himself,  and  that  is 
misdirected  genius.  A  blackguard  may  be  slow  to 
think  for  himself,  but  he  is  genuinely  anxious  to  kill, 
and  a  little  punishment  teaches  him  how  to  guard 
his  own  skin  and  perforate  another's.  A  powerfully 
prayerful  Highland  Regiment,  officered  by  rank 
Presbyterians,  is,  perhaps,  one  degree  more  terrible 
in  action  than  a  hard-bitten  thousand  of  irresponsible 
Irish  ruffians  led  by  most  improper  young  un- 
believers. But  these  things  prove  the  rule  —  which 
is  that  the  midway  men  are  not  to  be  trusted  alone. 
They  have  ideas  about  the  value  of  life  and  an  up- 
bringing that  has  not  taught  them  to  go  on  and 
take  the  chances.  They  are  carefully  unprovided 
with  a  backing  of  comrades  who  have  been  shot 
over,  and  until  that  backing  is  re-introduced,  as  a 
great  many  Regimental  Commanders  intend  it  shall 
be,  they  are  more  liable  to  disgrace  themselves  than 
the  size  of  the  Empire  or  the  dignity  of  the  Army 
allows.  Their  officers  are  as  good  as  good  can  be, 
because  their  training  begins  early,  and  God  has 
arranged  that  a  clean-run  youth  of  the  British  middle 
classes  shall,  in  the  matter  of  backbone,  brains,  and 
bowels,  surpass  all  other  youths.  For  this  reason  a 
child  of  eighteen  will  stand  up,  doing  nothing,  with 
a  tin  sword  in  his  hand  and  joy  in  his  heart  until  he 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  3 1 

is  dropped.  If  he  dies,  he  dies  like  a  gentleman.  If 
he  lives,  he  writes  Home  that  he  has  been  '  potted,' 
'sniped,'  'chipped,'  or  'cut  over,'  and  sits  down  to 
besiege  Government  for  a  wound-gratuity  until  the 
next  little  war  breaks  out,  when  he  perjures  himself 
before  a  Medical  Board,  blarneys  his  Colonel,  burns 
incense  round  his  Adjutant,  and  is  allowed  to  go  to 
the  Front  once  more. 

Which  homily  brings  me  directly  to  a  brace  of 
the  most  finished  little  fiends  that  ever  banged 
drum  or  tootled  fife  in  the  Band  of  a  British  Reg- 
iment. They  ended  their  sinful  career  by  open 
and  flagrant  mutiny  and  were  shot  for  it.  Their 
names  were  Jakin  and  Lew  —  Piggy  Lew  —  and 
they  were  bold,  bad  drummer-boys,  both  of  them 
frequently  birched  by  the  Drum-Major  of  the  Fore 
and  Aft. 

Jakin  was  a  stunted  child  of  fourteen,  and  Lew 
was  about  the  same  age.  When  not  looked  after, 
they  smoked  and  drank.  They  swore  habitually 
after  the  manner  of  the  Barrack-room,  which  is 
cold-swearing  and  conies  from  between  clinched 
teeth ;  and  they  fought  religiously  once  a  week. 
Jakin  had  sprung  from  some  London  gutter,  and 
may  or  may  not  have  passed  through  Dr.  Bar- 
nardo's  hands  ere  he  arrived  at  the  dignity  of 
drummer-boy.  Lew  could  remember  nothing  ex- 
cept the  Regiment  and  the  delight  of  listening  to 


Jf  SOLDIER  STORIES 

the  Band  from  his  earliest  years.  He  hid  some, 
where  in  his  grimy  little  soul  a  genuine  love  for 
music,  and  was  most  mistakenly  furnished  with 
the  head  of  a  cherub:  insomuch  that  beautiful 
ladies  who  watched  the  Regiment  in  church  were 
wont  to  speak  of  him  as  a  'darling.'  They  never 
heard  his  vitriolic  comments  on  their  manners  and 
morals,  as  he  walked  back  to  barracks  with  the 
Band  and  matured  fresh  causes  of  offence  against 
Jakin. 

The  other  drummer-boys  hated  both  lads  on 
account  of  their  illogical  conduct.  Jakin  might  be 
pounding  Lew,  or  Lew  might  be  rubbing  Jakin's 
head  in  the  dirt,  but  any  attempt  at  aggression 
on  the  part  of  an  outsider  was  met  by  the  com- 
bined forces  of  Lew  and  Jakin ;  and  the  conse- 
quences were  painful.  The  boys  were  the  Ish- 
maels  of  the  corps,  but  wealthy  Ishmaels,  for  they 
sold  battles  in  alternate  weeks  for  the  sport  of  the 
barracks  when  they  were  not  pitted  against  other 
boys;  and  thus  amassed  money. 

On  this  particular  day  there  was  dissension  in 
the  camp.  They  had  just  been  convicted  afresh 
of  smoking,  which  is  bad  for  little  boys  who  use 
plug-tobacco,  and  Lew's  contention  was  that  Jakin 
had  'stunk  so  'orrid  bad  from  keepin'  the  pipe  in 
pocket,'  that  he  and  he  alone  was  responsible  for 
the  birching  they  were  both  tingling  under. 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  33 

'I  tell  you  I  'id  the  pipe  back  o*  barracks/  said 
Jakin  pacifically. 

'You're  a  bloomin'  liar,'  said  Lew  without  heat. 

'You're  a  bloomin'  little  barstard,'  said  Jakin, 
strong  in  the  knowledge  that  his  own  ancestry 

was  unknown. 

» 

Now  there  is  one  word  in  the  extended  vocabu- 
lary of  barrack-room  abuse  that  cannot  pass  with- 
out comment.  You  may  call  a  man  a  thief  and 
risk  nothing.  You  may  even  call  him  a  coward 
without  finding  more  than  a  boot  whiz  past  your 
ear,  but  you  must  not  call  a  man  a  bastard  unless 
you  are  prepared  to  prove  it  on  his  front  teeth. 

'You  might  ha'  kep'  that  till  I  wasn't  so  sore,' 
said  Lew  sorrowfully,  dodging  round  Jakin's  guard. 

'I'll  make  you  sorer,'  said  Jakin  genially,  and 
got  home  on  Lew's  alabaster  forehead.  All  would 
have  gone  well  and  this  story,  as  the  books  say, 
would  never  have  been  written,  had  not  his  evil 
fate  prompted  the  Bazar-Sergeant's  son,  a  long, 
employless  man  of  five-and-twenty,  to  put  in  an 
appearance  after  the  first  round.  He  was  eternally 
in  need  of  money,  and  knew  that  the  boys  had  silver. 

'  Fighting  again,'  said  he.  '  I'll  report  you  to 
my  father,  and  he'll  report  you  to  the  Colour- 
Sergeant.' 

'What's  that  to   you?'   said   Jakin   with   an   ui 
pleasant  dilation  of  the  nostrils. 


34  SOLDIER  STORIES 

'Oh!  nothing  to  me.  You'll  get  into  trouble, 
and  you've  been  up  too  often  to  afford  that' 

'What  the  Hell  do  you  know  about  what  we've 
done?'  asked  Lew  the  Seraph.  '  You  aren't  in 
the  Army,  you  lousy,  cadging  civilian.' 

He  closed  in  on  the  man's  left  flank. 

'Jes'  'cause  you  find  two  gentlemen  settlin'  their 
diff'rences  with  their  fistes  you  stick  in  your  ugly 
nose  where  you  aren't  wanted.  Run  'ome  to  your 
'arf -caste  slut  of  a  Ma  —  or  we'll  give  you  what- 
for,'  said  Jakin. 

The  man  attempted  reprisals  by  knocking  the 
boys'  heads  together.  The  scheme  would  have 
succeeded  had  not  Jakin  punched  him  vehemently 
in  the  stomach,  or  had  Lew  refrained  from  kick- 
ing his  shins.  They  fought  together,  bleeding  and 
breathless,  for  half  an  hour,  and,  after  heavy  pun- 
ishment, triumphantly  pulled  down  their  opponent 
as  terriers  pull  down  a  jackal. 

'  Now,'  gasped  Jakin,  '  I'll  give  you  what-for.'  He 
proceeded  to  pound  the  man's  features  while  Lew 
stamped  on  the  outlying  portions  of  his  anatomy. 
Chivalry  is  not  a  strong  point  in  the  composition 
of  the  average  drummer-boy.  He  fights,  as  do  his 
betters,  to  make  his  mark. 

Ghastly  was  the  ruin  that  escaped,  and  awful  was 
the  wrath  of  the  Bazar-Sergeant.  Awful,  too,  was 
the  scene  in  Orderly-room  when  the  two  reprobates 


Hey !     What?     Are  you  going  to  argue  with  me  ? '  said  the  Colonel.  —  p.  35 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  35 

appeared  to  answer  the  charge  of  half-murdering  a 
'civilian.'  The  Bazar-Sergeant  thirsted  for  a  crimi- 
nal action,  and  his  son  lied.  The  boys  stood  to 
attention  while  the  black  clouds  of  evidence  accu- 
mulated. 

'  You  little  devils  are  more  trouble  than  the  rest 
of  the  Regiment  put  together,'  said  the  Colonel  an- 
grily. 'One  might  as  well  admonish  thistledown, 
and  I  can't  well  put  you  in  cells  or  under  stoppages. 
You  must  be  birched  again.' 

'  Beg  y'  pardon,  Sir.  Can't  we  say  nothin'  in  our 
own  defence,  Sir  ? '  shrilled  Jakin. 

'  Hey !  What  ?  Are  you  going  to  argue  with 
me  ?  '  said  the  Colonel. 

'  No,  Sir,'  said  Lew.  '  But  if  a  man  come  to  you, 
Sir,  and  said  he  was  going  to  report  you,  Sir,  for 
'aving  a  bit  of  a  turn-up  with  a  friend,  Sir,  an*  wanted 
to  get  money  out  o'  you,  Sir ' 

The  Orderly-room  exploded  in  a  roar  of  laughter. 
•Well?'  said  the  Colonel. 

'  That  was  what  that  measly  jarnwar  there  did, 
Sir,  and  'e'd  'a'  done  it,  Sir,  if  we  'adn't  prevented 
'im.  We  didn't  'it  'im  much,  Sir.  'E  'adn't  no  man- 
ner o*  right  to  interfere  with  us,  Sir.  I  don't  mind 
bein'  birched  by  the  Drum-Major,  Sir,  nor  yet  re- 
ported by  any  Corp'ral,  but  I'm  —  but  I  don't  think 
it's  fair,  Sir,  for  a  civilian  to  come  an'  talk  over  a 
in  the  Army.' 


36  SOLDIER  STORIES 

A  second  shout  of  laughter  shook  the  Orderly- 
room,  but  the  Colonel  was  grave. 

'What  sort  of  characters  have  these  boys?'  he 
isked  of  the  Regimental  Sergeant-Major. 

'  Accordin'  to  the  Bandmaster,  Sir,'  returned  that 
revered  official  —  the  only  soul  in  the  regiment 
whom  the  boys  feared  — '  they  do  everything  but 
lie,  Sir.' 

'Is  it  like  we'd  go  for  that  man  for  fun,  Sir?' 
said  Lew,  pointing  to  the  plaintiff. 

'Oh,  admonished  —  admonished!'  said  the  Colonel 
testily,  and  when  the  boys  had  gone  he  read  the 
Bazar-Sergeant's  son  a  lecture  on  the  sin  of  unprofit- 
able meddling,  and  gave  orders  that  the  Bandmaster 
should  keep  the  Drums  in  better  discipline. 

'  If  either  of  you  comes  to  practice  again  with  so 
Tiuch  as  a  scratch  on  your  two  ugly  little  faces,' 
thundered  the  Bandmaster,  '  I'll  tell  the  Drum-Major 
to  take  the  skin  off  your  backs.  Understand  that, 
.you  young  devils.' 

Then  he  repented  of  his  speech  for  just  the  length 
t»f  time  that  Lew,  looking  like  a  Seraph  in  red 
Worsted  embellishments,  took  the  place  of  one  of  the 
trumpets  —  in  hospital  —  and  rendered  the  echo  of  a 
battle-piece.  Lew  certainly  was  a  musician,  and 
had  often  in  his  more  exalted  moments  expressed  a 
yearning  to  master  every  instrument  of  the  Band. 

'There's    nothing  to   prevent    your   becoming    a 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  37 

Bandmaster,  Lew,'  said  the  Bandmaster,  who  had 
composed  waltzes  of  his  own,  and  worked  day  and 
night  in  the  interests  of  the  Band. 

'  What  did  he  say  ? '  demanded  Jakin  after 
practice. 

'  'Said  I  might  be  a  bloomin'  Bandmaster,  an' 
be  asked  in  to  'ave  a  glass  o'  sherry-wine  on 
Mess-nights.' 

'  Ho !  'Said  you  might  be  a  bloomin'  non-com- 
batant, did  'e !  That's  just  about  wot  'e  would 
say.  When  I've  put  in  my  boy's  service  —  it's  a 
bloomin'  shame  that  doesn't  count  for  pension  — 
I'll  take  on  as  a  privit.  Then  I'll  be  a  Lance  in 
a  year — knowin'  what  I  know  about  the  ins  an' 
outs  o'  things.  In  three  years  I'll  be  a  bloomin' 
Sergeant.  I  won't  marry  then,  not  I !  I'll  'old  on 
and  learn  the  orf'cers'  ways  an'  apply  for  exchange 
into  a  reg'ment  that  doesn't  know  all  about  me. 
Then  I'll  be  a  bloomin'  orf'cer.  Then  I'll  ask 
you  to  'ave  a  glass  o'  sherry-wine,  Mister  Lew,  an* 
you'll  bloomin'  well  'ave  to  stay  in  the  hanty-room 
while  the  Mess-Sergeant  brings  it  to  your  dirty  'ands.' 

"S'pose  I'm  going  to  be  a  Bandmaster?  Not  I, 
quite.  I'll  be  a  orf'cer  too.  There's  nothin'  like 
takin'  to  a  thing  an'  stickin'  to  it,  the  School- 
master says.  The  reg'ment  don't  go  'ome  for 
another  seven  years.  I'll  be  a  Lance  then  or 
near  to.' 


38  SOLDIER  STORIES 

Thus  the  boys  discussed  their  futures,  and  con« 
ducted  themselves  piously  for  a  week.  That  is  to 
say,  Lew  started  a  flirtation  with  the  Colour-Ser- 
geant's daughter,  aged  thirteen  —  'not,'  as  he  ex- 
plained to  Jakin,  '  with  any  intention  o'  matrimony, 
but  by  way  o'  keepin'  my  'and  in.'  And  the  black- 
haired  Cris  Delighan  enjoyed  that  flirtation  more 
than  previous  ones,  and  the  other  drummer-boys 
raged  furiously  together,  and  Jakin  preached  ser- 
mons on  the  dangers  of  'bein'  tangled  along  o* 
petticoats.' 

But  neither  love  nor  virtue  would  have  held  Lew 
long  in  the  paths  of  propriety  had  not  the  rumour 
gone  abroad  that  the  Regiment  was  to  be  sent  on 
active  service,  to  take  part  in  a  war  which,  for  the 
sake  of  brevity,  we  will  call  'The  War  of  the  Lost 
Tribes.' 

The  barracks  had  the  rumour  almost  before  the 
Mess-room,  and  of  all  the  nine  hundred  men  in 
barracks  not  ten  had  seen  a  shot  fired  in  anger. 
The  Colonel  had,  twenty  years  ago,  assisted  at  a 
Frontier  expedition;  one  of  the  Majors  had  seen 
service  at  the  Cape ;  a  confirmed  deserter  in  E 
Company  had  helped  to  clear  streets  in  Ireland ; 
but  that  was  all.  The  Regiment  had  been  put  by 
for  many  years.  The  overwhelming  mass  of  its 
rank  and  file  had  from  three  to  four  years'  service ; 
the  non-commissioned  officers  were  under  thirty 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  39 

years  old ;  and  men  and  sergeants  alike  had  for- 
gotten to  speak  of  the  stories  written  in  brief  upon 
the  Colours  —  the  New  Colours  that  had  been  for- 
mally blessed  by  an  Archbishop  in  England  ere  the 
Regiment  came  away. 

They  wanted  to  go  to  the  Front  —  they  were 
enthusiastically  anxious  to  go  —  but  they  had  no 
knowledge  of  what  war  meant,  and  there  was  none 
to  tell  them.  They  were  an  educated  regiment,  the 
percentage  of  school-certificates  in  their  ranks  was 
high,  and  most  of  the  men  could  do  more  than 
read  and  write.  They  had  been  recruited  in  loyal 
observance  of  the  territorial  idea;  but  they  them- 
selves had  no  notion  of  that  idea.  They  were  made 
up  of  drafts  from  an  over-populated  manufacturing 
district.  The  system  had  put  flesh  and  muscle  upon 
their  small  bones,  but  it  could  not  put  heart  into  the 
sons  of  those  who  for  generations  had  done  over- 
much work  for  over-scanty  pay,  had  sweated  in 
drying-rooms,  stooped  over  looms,  coughed  among 
white-lead,  and  shivered  on  lime-barges.  The  men 
had  found  food  and  rest  in  the  Army,  and  now 
they  were  going  to  fight  'niggers'  —  people  who 
ran  away  if  you  shook  a  stick  at  them.  Where- 
fore they  cheered  lustily  when  the  rumour  ran, 
and  the  shrewd,  clerkly  non-commissioned  officers 
speculated  on  the  chances  of  batta  and  of  saving 
their  pay.  At  Headquarters  men  said:  'The  Fore 


40  SOLDIER  STORIES 

and  Fit  have  never  been  under  fire  within  the  last 
generation.  Let  us,  therefore,  break  them  in  easily 
by  setting  them  to  guard  lines  of  communication.' 
And  this  would  have  been  done  but  for  the  fact 
that  British  Regiments  were  wanted  —  badly  wanted 
—  at  the  Front,  and  there  were  doubtful  Native 
Regiments  that  could  fill  the  minor  duties.  'Brigade 
'em  with  two  strong  Regiments,'  said  Headquarters. 
'They  may  be  knocked  about  a  bit,  though  they'll 
learn  their  business  before  they  come  through. 
Nothing  like  a  night-alarm  and  a  little  cutting  up 
of  stragglers  to  make  a  Regiment  smart  in  the  field. 
Wait  till  they've  had  half-a-dozen  sentries'  throats  cut.' 

The  Colonel  wrote  with  delight  that  the  temper 
of  his  men  was  excellent,  that  the  Regiment  was  all 
that  could  be  wished  and  as  sound  as  a  bell.  The 
Majors  smiled  with  a  sober  joy,  and  the  subalterns 
waltzed  in  pairs  down  the  Mess-room  after  dinner, 
and  nearly  shot  themselves  at  revolver-practice. 
But  there  was  consternation  in  the  hearts  of  Jakin 
and  Lew.  What  was  to  be  done  with  the  Drums  ? 
Would  the  Band  go  to  the  Front  ?  How  many  of 
the  Drums  would  accompany  the  Regiment  ? 

They  took  counsel  together,  sitting  in  a  tree  and 
smoking. 

'It's  more  than  a  bloomin'  toss-up  they'll  leave 
us  be'ind  at  the  Depot  with  the  women.  You'll 
like  that,'  said  Jakin  sarcastically. 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  4* 

'  'Cause  o'  Cris,  y'  mean  ?  Wot's  a  woman,  or 
a  'ole  bloomin'  depot  o'  women,  'longside  o'  the 
chanst  of  field-service  ?  You  know  I'm  as  keen  on 
goin'  as  you,'  said  Lew. 

'  'Wish  I  was  a  bloomin'  bugler,'  said  Jakin  sadly. 
'  They'll  take  Tom  Kidd  along,  that  I  can  plaster  a 
wall  with,  an'  like  as  not  they  won't  take  us. 

'Then  let's  go  an'  make  Tom  Kidd  so  bloomin' 
sick  'e  can't  bugle  no  more.  You  'old  'is  'ands  an' 
I'll  kick  him,'  said  Lew,  wriggling  on  the  branch. 

'That  ain't  no  good  neither.  We  ain't  the  sort 
o'  characters  to  presoom  on  our  rep'tations  —  they're 
bad.  If  they  leave  the  Band  at  the  Depot  we  don't 
go,  and  no  error  there.  If  they  take  the  Band  we 
may  get  cast  for  medical  unfitness.  Are  you  med- 
ical fit,  Piggy?'  said  Jakin,  digging  Lew  in  the  ribs 
with  force. 

'  Yus,'  said  Lew  with  an  oath.  '  The  Doctor  says 
/our  'cart's  weak  through  smokin'  on  an  empty 
stummick.  Throw  a  chest  an'  I'll  try  yer.' 

Jakin  threw  out  his  chest,  which  Lew  smote 
with  all  his  might.  Jakin  turned  very  pale,  gasped, 
crowed,  screwed  up  his  eyes,  and  said  — '  That's  all 
right.' 

'  You'll  do,'  said  Lew.  '  I've  'card  o'  men  dyin' 
when  you  'it  'em  fair  on  the  breastbone.' 

'  Don't  bring  us  no  nearer  goin',  though,'  said 
Jakin.  '  Do  you  know  where  we're  ordered  ? ' 


4*  SOLDIER  STORIES 

'  Gawd  knows,  an'  'E  won't  split  on  a  pal.  Some- 
wheres  up  to  the  Front  to  kill  Paythans  —  hairy 
big  beggars  that  turn  you  inside  out  if  they  get 
'old  o'  you.  They  say  their  women  are  good- 
looking,  too.' 

'  Any  loot  ? '  asked  the  abandoned  Jakin. 

'  Not  a  bloomin'  anna,  they  say,  unless  you  dig 
lip  the  ground  an'  see  what  the  niggers  'ave  'id. 
They're  a  poor  lot.'  Jakin  stood  upright  on  the 
branch  and  gazed  across  the  plain. 

'  Lew,'  said  he,  '  there's  the  Colonel  coming. 
'Colonel's  a  good  old  beggar.  Let's  go  an'  talk 
to  'im.' 

Lew  nearly  fell  out  of  the  tree  at  the  audacity 
of  the  suggestion.  Like  Jakin  he  feared  not  God, 
neither  regarded  he  Man,  but  there  are  limits  even 
to  the  audacity  of  drummer-boy,  and  to  speak  to 
a  Colonel  was 

But  Jakin  had  slid  down  the  trunk  and  doubled 
in  the  direction  of  the  Colonel.  That  officer  was 
walking  wrapped  in  thought  and  visions  of  a  C.B. 
—  yes,  even  a  K.C.B.,  for  had  he  not  at  command 
one  of  the  best  Regiments  of  the  Line  —  the  Fore 
and  Fit  ?  And  he  was  aware  of  two  small  boys 
charging  down  upon  him.  Once  before  it  had  been 
solemnly  reported  to  him  that '  the  Drums  were  in  a 
state  of  mutiny,'  Jakin  and  Lew  being  the  ringlead- 
ers. This  looked  like  an  organised  conspiracy. 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  43 

The  boys  halted  at  twenty  yards,  walked  to  the 
regulation  four  paces,  and  saluted  together,  each 
as  well-set-up  as  a  ramrod  and  little  taller. 

The  Colonel  was  in  a  genial  mood;  the  boys 
appeared  very  forlorn  and  unprotected  on  the 
desolate  plain,  and  one  of  them  was  handsome. 

'Well! '  said  the  Colonel,  recognising  them.  'Are 
you  going  to  pull  me  down  in  the  open?  I'm 
sure  I  never  interfere  with  you,  even  though' — he 
sniffed  suspiciously  —  'you  have  been  smoking.' 

It  was  time  to  strike  while  the  iron  was  hot. 
Their  hearts  beat  tumultuously. 

'  Beg  y'  pardon,  Sir,'  began  Jakin.  '  The  Reg'- 
ment's  ordered  on  active  service,  Sir  ? ' 

'So  I  believe,'  said  the  Colonel  courteously. 

'Is  the  Band  goin',  Sir?'  said  both  together. 
Then,  without  pause,  '  We're  goin',  Sir,  ain't  we  ? ' 

'  You ! '  said  the  Colonel,  stepping  back  the  more 
fully  to  take  in  the  two  small  figures.  'You! 
You'd  die  in  the  first  march.' 

'No,  we  wouldn't,  Sir.  We  can  march  with  the 
Reg'ment  anywheres — p'rade  an'  anywhere  else,' 
said  Jakin. 

'If  Tom  Kidd  goes  'e'll  shut  up  like  a  clasp* 
knife,'  said  Lew.  '  Tom  'as  very-close  veins  in  both 
'is  legs,  Sir.' 

'Very  how  much?' 

'Very-close   veins,  Sir.     That's  why   they   swells 


44  SOLDIER  STORIES 

after  long  p'rade,  Sir.     If   'e  can  go,  we  can  go, 
Sir.' 

Again  the  Colonel  looked  at  them  long  and 
intently. 

'Yes,  the  Band  is  going,'  he  said  as  gravely  as 
though  he  had  been  addressing  a  brother  officer. 
'  Have  you  any  parents,  either  of  you  two  ? ' 

'  No,  Sir,'  rejoicingly  from  Lew  and  Jakin. 
'We're  both  orphans,  Sir.  There's  no  one  to  be 
considered  of  on  our  account,  Sir.' 

'  You  poor  little  sprats,  and  you  want  to  go  up  to 
the  Front  with  the  Regiment,  do  you  ?  Why  ? ' 

'  I've  wore  the  Queen's  Uniform  for  two  years,' 
said  Jakin.  '  It's  very  'ard,  Sir,  that  a  man  don't 
get  no  recompense  for  doin'  of  'is  dooty,  Sir.' 

'An'  —  an'  if  I  don't  go,  Sir,'  interrupted  Lew, 
'the  Bandmaster  'e  says  'e'll  catch  an'  make  a 
bloo  —  a  blessed  musician  o'  me,  Sir.  Before  I've 
seen  any  service,  Sir.' 

The  Colonel  made  no  answer  for  a  long  time. 
Then  he  said  quietly :  '  If  you're  passed  by  the 
Doctor  I  daresay  you  can  go.  I  shouldn't  smoke 
if  I  were  you.' 

The  boys  saluted  and  disappeared.  The  Colonel 
walked  home  and  told  the  story  to  his  wife,  who 
nearly  cried  over  it.  The  Colonel  was  well  pleased. 
If  that  was  the  temper  of  the  children,  what  would 
not  the  men  do  ? 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  45 

Jakin  and  Lew  entered  the  boys'  barrack-room 
with  great  stateliness,  and  refused  to  hold  any  con- 
versation with  their  comrades  for  at  least  ten 
minutes.  Then,  bursting  with  pride,  Jakin  drawled : 
'  I've  bin  intervooin'  the  Colonel.  Good  old  beggar 
is  the  Colonel.  Says  I  to  'im,  "Colonel,"  says  I, 
"  let  me  go  to  the  Front,  along  o'  the  Reg'ment."  — 
"To  the  Front  you  shall  go,"  says  'e,  "an'  I  only 
wish  there  was  more  like  you  among  the  dirty  little 
devils  that  bang  the  bloomin'  drums."  Kidd,  if  you 
throw  your  'courtrements  at  me  for  tellin'  you  the 
truth  to  your  own  advantage,  your  legs'll  swell.' 

None  the  less  there  was  a  Battle-Royal  in  the 
barrack-room,  for  the  boys  were  consumed  with 
envy  and  hate,  and  neither  Jakin  nor  Lew  behaved 
in  conciliatory  wise. 

'I'm  goin'  out  to  say  adoo  to  my  girl,'  said  Lew, 
to  cap  the  climax.  '  Don't  none  o'  you  touch  my 
kit  because  it's  wanted  for  active  service ;  me  bein' 
specially  invited  to  go  by  the  Colonel.' 

He  strolled  forth  and  whistled  in  the  clump  of 
trees  at  the  back  of  the  Married  Quarters  till  Cris 
came  to  him,  and,  the  preliminary  kisses  being  given 
and  taken,  Lew  began  to  explain  the  situation. 

'I'm  goin'  to  the  Front  with  the  Reg'ment,'  he 
said  valiantly. 

'  Piggy,  you're  a  little  liar,'  said  Cris,  but  her  heart 
misgave  her,  for  Lew  was  not  in  the  habit  of  lying. 


46  SOLDIER  STORIES 

'Liar  yourself,  Cris,'  said  Lew,  slipping  an  arm 
round  her.  'I'm  goin'.  When  the  Reg'ment 
marches  out  you'll  see  me  with  'em,  all  galliant  and 
gay.  Give  us  another  kiss,  Cris,  on  the  strength 
of  it.' 

'  If  you'd  on'y  a-stayed  at  the  Depot  —  where  you 
ought  to  ha'  bin  —  you  could  get  as  many  of  'em  as 
—  as  you  dam  please,'  whimpered  Cris,  putting  up 
her  mouth. 

'  It's  'ard,  Cris.  I  grant  you  it's  'ard.  But  what's 
a  man  to  do  ?  If  I'd  a-stayed  at  the  Depot,  you 
wouldn't  think  anything  of  me.' 

'Like  as  not,  but  I'd  'ave  you  with  me,  Piggy. 
An'  all  the  thinkin'  in  the  world  isn't  like  kissin'.' 

'  An'  all  the  kissin'  in  the  world  isn't  like  'avin'  a 
medal  to  wear  on  the  front  o1  your  coat.' 

'  You  won't  get  no  medal.' 

'Oh  yus,  I  shall  though.  Me  an'  Jakin  are  the 
only  acting-drummers  that'll  be  took  along.  All 
the  rest  is  full  men,  an'  we'll  get  our  medals  with 
them.' 

'They  might  ha'  taken  anybody  but  you,  Piggy. 
You'll  get  killed  —  you're  so  venturesome.  Stay  with 
me,  Piggy  darlin',  down  at  the  Depot,  an'  I'll  love 
you  true  for  ever.' 

'  Ain't  you  goin'  to  do  that  now,  Cris  ?  You  said 
you  was.' 

'  O'  course  I  am,  but  th'  other's  more  comfortable. 


Cris  slid  an  arm  round  his  neck.  —  P.  47. 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE   FORE  AND  AFT  47 

Wait  till  you've  growed  a  bit,  Piggy.  You  aren't 
no  taller  than  me  now.' 

'  I've  bin  in  the  Army  for  two  years  an'  I'm  not 
goin'  to  get  out  of  a  chanst  o'  seein'  service,  an'  don't 
you  try  to  make  me  do  so.  I'll  come  back,  Cris,  an' 
when  I  take  on  as  a  man  I'll  marry  you  —  marry 
you  when  I'm  a  Lance.' 

'  Promise,  Piggy  ? ' 

Lew  reflected  on  the  future  as  arranged  by  Jakin 
a  short  time  previously,  but  Cris's  mouth  was  very 
near  to  his  own. 

'  I  promise,  s'elp  me  Gawd ! '  said  he. 

Cris  slid  an  arm  round  his  neck. 

'  I  won't  'old  you  back  no  more,  Piggy.  Go  away 
an'  get  your  medal,  an'  I'll  make  you  a  new  button- 
bag  as  nice  as  I  know  how,'  she  whispered. 

'  Put  some  o'  your  'air  into  it,  Cris,  an'  I'll  keep 
it  in  my  pocket  so  long's  I'm  alive.' 

Then  Cris  wept  anew,  and   the  interview  ended. 

Public  feeling  among  the  drummer-boys  rose  to 
fever  pitch  and  the  lives  of  Jakin  and  Lew  became 
unenviable.  Not  only  had  they  been  permitted  to 
enlist  two  years  before  the  regulation  boy's  age  — 
fourteen  —  but,  by  virtue,  it  seemed,  of  their  extreme 
youth,  they  were  allowed  to  go  to  the  Front  —  which 
thing  had  not  happened  to  acting-drummers  within 
the  knowledge  of  boy.  The  Band  which  was  to 
accompany  the  Regiment  had  been  cut  down  to  the 


49  SOLDIER  STORIES 

regulation  twenty  men,  the  surplus  returning  to  the 
ranks.  Jakin  and  Lew  were  attached  to  the  Band 
as  supernumeraries,  though  they  would  much  have 
preferred  being  Company  buglers. 

"Don't  matter  much,'  said  Jakin  after  the  medi- 
cal inspection.  '  Be  thankful  that  we're  'lowed  to 
go  at  all.  The  Doctor  'e  said  that  if  we  could  stand 
what  we  took  from  the  Bazar-Sergeant's  son  we'd 
stand  pretty  nigh  anything.' 

'  Which  we  will,'  said  Lew,  looking  tenderly  at  the 
ragged  and  ill-made  housewife  that  Cris  had  given 
him,  with  a  lock  of  her  hair  worked  into  a  sprawling 
'L'  upon  the  cover. 

'  It  was  the  best  I  could,'  she  sobbed.  '  I  wouldn't 
let  mother  nor  the  Sergeants'  tailor  'elp  me.  Keep 
it  always,  Piggy,  an'  remember  I  love  you  true.' 

They  marched  to  the  railway  station,  nine  hundred 
and  sixty  strong,  and  every  soul  in  cantonments 
turned  out  to  see  them  go.  The  drummers  gnashed 
their  teeth  at  Jakin  and  Lew  marching  with  the 
Band,  the  married  women  wept  upon  the  platform, 
and  the  Regiment  cheered  its  noble  self  black  in  the 
face. 

'  A  nice  level  lot,'  said  the  Colonel  to  the  Second- 
in-Command  as  they  watched  the  first  four  companies 
entraining. 

'  Fit  to  do  anything,'  said  the  Second-in-Command 
enthusiastically.  '  But  it  seems  to  me  they're  a 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  49 

thought  too  young  and  tender  for  the  work  in  hand. 
It's  bitter  cold  up  at  the  Front  now.' 

'They're  sound  enough,'  said  the  Colonel.  'We 
must  take  our  chance  of  sick  casualties.' 

So  they  went  northward,  ever  northward,  past 
droves  and  droves  of  camels,  armies  of  camp  follow- 
ers, and  legions  of  laden  mules,  the  throng  thicken- 
ing day  by  day,  till  with  a  shriek  the  train  pulled  up 
at  a  hopelessly  congested  junction  where  six  lines 
of  temporary  track  accommodated  six  forty-waggon 
trains;  where  whistles  blew,  Babus  sweated,  and 
Commissariat  officers  swore  from  dawn  till  far  into 
the  night  amid  the  wind-driven  chaff  of  the  fodder- 
bales  and  the  lowing  of  a  thousand  steers. 

'  Hurry  up  —  you're  badly  wanted  at  the  Front,' 
was  the  message  that  greeted  the  Fore  and  Aft, 
and  the  occupants  of  the  Red  Cross  carriages  told 
the  same  tale. 

"Tisn't  so  much  the  bloomin'  fightin','  gasped  a 
headbound  trooper  of  Hussars  to  a  knot  of  admiring 
Fore  and  Afts.  "Tisn't  so  much  the  bloomin' 
fightin',  though  there's  enough  o'  that.  It's  the 
bloomin'  food  an'  the  bloomin'  climate.  Frost  all 
night  'cept  when  it  hails,  and  biling  sun  all  day, 
and  the  water  stinks  fit  to  knock  you  down.  I  got 
my  'ead  chipped  like  a  egg ;  I've  got  pneumonia  too, 
an'  my  guts  is  all  out  o'  order.  'Tain't  no  bloomin' 
picnic  in  those  parts,  I  can  tell  you.' 


$0  SOLDIER  STORIES 

'  Wot  are  the  niggers  like  ? '  demanded  a  private. 

'There's  some  prisoners  in  that  train  yonder. 
Go  an'  look  at  'em.  They're  the  aristocracy  o'  the 
country.  The  common  folk  are  a  dashed  sight 
uglier.  If  you  want  to  know  what  they  fight  with, 
reach  under  my  seat  an'  pull  out  the  long  knife 
that's  there.' 

They  dragged  out  and  beheld  for  the  first  time 
the  grim,  bone-handled,  triangular  Afghan  knife. 
It  was  almost  as  long  as  Lew. 

'That's  the  thing  to  jint  ye,'  said  the  trooper 
feebly.  '  It  can  take  off  a  man's  arm  at  the  shoulder 
as  easy  as  slicing  butter.  I  halved  the  beggar  that 
used  that  'un,  but  there's  more  of  his  likes  up  above. 
They  don't  understand  thrustin',  but  they're  devils 
to  slice.' 

The  men  strolled  across  the  tracks  to  inspect  the 
Afghan  prisoners.  They  were  unlike  any  '  niggers ' 
that  the  Fore  and  Aft  had  ever  met  —  these  huge, 
black-haired,  scowling  sons  of  the  Beni-Israel.  As 
the  men  stared  the  Afghans  spat  freely  and  muttered 
one  to  another  with  lowered  eyes. 

1  My  eyes !  Wot  awful  swine ! '  said  Jakin,  who 
was  in  the  rear  of  the  procession.  'Say,  old  man, 
how  you  got  puckrowed,  eh  ?  Kiswasti  you  wasn't 
hanged  for  your  ugly  face,  hey  ? ' 

The  tallest  of  the  company  turned,  his  leg-irons 
clanking  at  the  movement,  and  stared  at  the  boy. 


The  men  strolled  across  the  tracks  to  inspect  the  Afghan  prisoners.  —  P.  50. 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT      51 

'  See ! '  he  cried  to  his  fellows  in  Pushto.  '  They 
send  children  against  us.  What  a  people,  and  what 
fools!' 

'Hya!'  said  Jakin,  nodding  his  head  cheerily. 
'  You  go  down-country.  Khana  get,  peenikapanee 
get  —  live  like  a  bloomin'  Raja  ke  marfik.  That's  a 
better  bandobust  than  baynit  get  it  in  your  innards. 
Good-bye,  ole  man.  Take  care  o'  your  beautiful 
figure-'ad,  an'  try  to  look  kushy? 

The  men  laughed  and  fell  in  for  their  first  march, 
when  they  began  to  realise  that  a  soldier's  life  was 
not  all  beer  and  skittles.  They  were  much  impressed 
with  the  size  and  bestial  ferocity  of  the  niggers  whom 
they  had  now  learned  to  call  '  Paythans,'  and  more 
with  the  exceeding  discomfort  of  their  own  sur- 
roundings. Twenty  old  soldiers  in  the  corps  would 
have  taught  them  how  to  make  themselves  moderately 
snug  at  night,  but  they  had  no  old  soldiers,  and,  as 
the  troops  on  the  line  of  march  said,  '  they  lived  like 
pigs.'  They  learned  the  heart-breaking  cussedness 
of  camp-kitchens  and  camels  and  the  depravity  of 
an  E.P.  tent  and  a  wither-wrung  mule.  They  studied 
animalculae  in  water,  and  developed  a  few  cases 
of  dysentery  in  their  study. 

At  the  end  of  their  third  march  they  were  dis- 
agreeably surprised  by  the  arrival  in  their  camp  of 
a  hammered  iron  slug  which,  fired  from  a  steady  rest 
at  seven  hundred  yards,  flicked  out  the  brains  of  a 


52  SOLDIER  STORIES 

private  seated  by  the  fire.  This  robbed  them  of 
their  peace  for  a  night,  and  was  the  beginning  of  a 
long-range  fire  carefully  calculated  to  that  end.  In 
the  daytime  they  saw  nothing  except  an  unpleasant 
puff  of  smoke  from  a  crag  above  the  line  of  march. 
At  night  there  were  distant  spurts  of  flame  and 
occasional  casualties,  which  set  the  whole  camp 
blazing  into  the  gloom  and,  occasionally,  into 
opposite  tents.  Then  they  swore  vehemently  and 
vowed  that  this  was  magnificent,  but  not  war. 

Indeed  it  was  not.  The  Regiment  vould  not  halt 
for  reprisals  against  the  sharpshooters  of  the  country- 
side. Its  duty  was  to  go  forward  and  make  con- 
nection with  the  Scotch  and  Gurkha  troops  with 
which  it  was  brigaded.  The  Afghans  knew  this, 
and  knew  too,  after  their  first  tentative  shots,  that 
they  were  dealing  with  a  raw  regiment.  Thereafter 
they  devoted  themselves  to  the  task  of  keeping  the 
Fore  and  Aft  on  the  strain.  Not  for  anything  would 
they  have  taken  equal  liberties  with  a  seasoned  corps 
•  —  with  the  wicked  little  Gurkhas,  whose  delight  it 
jvas  to  lie  out  in  the  open  on  a  dark  night  and  stalk 
their  stalkers  —  with  the  terrible,  big  men  dressed  in 
women's  clothes,  who  could  be  heard  praying  to 
their  God  in  the  night-watches,  and  whose  peace  of 
mind  no  amount  of  '  sniping '  could  shake  —  or  with 
those  vile  Sikhs,  who  marched  so  ostentatiously  un- 
prepared and  who  dealt  out  such  grim  reward  to 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT      S3 

those  who  tried  to  profit  by  that  unpreparedness. 
This  white  regiment  was  different  —  quite  different. 
It  slept  like  a  hog,  and,  like  a  hog,  charged  in  every 
direction  when  it  was  roused.  Its  sentries  walked 
with  a  footfall  that  could  be  heard  for  a  quarter  of  a 
mile ;  would  fire  at  anything  that  moved  —  even  a 
driven  donkey  —  and  when  they  had  once  fired,  could 
be  scientifically  '  rushed '  and  laid  out  a  horror  and 
an  offence  against  the  morning  sun.  Then  there 
were  camp-followers  who  straggled  and  could  be  cut 
up  without  fear.  Their  shrieks  would  disturb  the 
white  boys,  and  the  loss  of  their  services  would  in- 
convenience them  sorely. 

Thus,  at  every  march,  the  hidden  enemy  became 
bolder  and  the  regiment  writhed  and  twisted  under 
attacks  it  could  not  avenge.  The  crowning  triumph 
was  a  sudden  night-rush  ending  in  the  cutting  of 
many  tent-ropes,  the  collapse  of  the  sodden  canvas, 
and  a  glorious  knifing  of  the  men  who  struggled  and 
kicked  below.  It  was  a  great  deed,  neatly  carried  out, 
and  it  shook  the  already  shaken  nerves  of  the  Fore  and 
Aft.  All  the  courage  that  they  had  been  required  to 
exercise  up  to  this  point  was  the  '  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning  courage ' ;  and,  so  far,  they  had  only  succeeded 
in  shooting  their  comrades  and  losing  their  sleep. 

Sullen,  discontented,  cold,  savage,  sick,  with  their 
uniforms  dulled  and  unclean,  the  Fore  and  Aft 
joined  their  Brigade. 


54  SOLDIER  STORIES 

'  I  hear  you  had  a  tough  time  of  it  coming  up/ 
said  the  Brigadier.  But  when  he  saw  the  hospital- 
sheets  his  face  fell. 

'  This  is  bad,'  said  he  to  himself.  '  They're  as 
rotten  as  sheep.'  And  aloud  to  the  Colonel — 'I'm 
afraid  we  can't  spare  you  just  yet.  We  want  all 
we  have,  else  I  should  have  given  you  ten  days  to 
recover  in.' 

The  Colonel  winced.  'On  my  honour,  Sir,'  he 
returned,  'there  is  not  the  least  necessity  to  think 
of  sparing  us.  My  men  have  been  rather  mauled 
and  upset  without  a  fair  return.  They  only  want 
to  go  in  somewhere  where  they  can  see  what's 
before  them.' 

'Can't  say  I  think  much  of  the  Fore  and  Fit,' 
said  the  Brigadier  in  confidence  to  his  Brigade- 
Major.  'They've  lost  all  their  soldiering,  and,  by 
the  trim  of  them,  might  have  marched  through  the 
country  from  the  other  side.  A  more  fagged-out 
set  of  men  I  never  put  eyes  on.' 

'Oh,  they'll  improve  as  the  work  goes  on.  The 
parade  gloss  has  been  rubbed  off  a  little,  but  they'll 
put  on  field  polish  before  long,'  said  the  Brigade- 
Major.  '  They've  been  mauled,  and  they  don't 
quite  understand  it.' 

They  did  not.  All  the  hitting  was  on  one  side, 
and  it  was  cruelly  hard  hitting  with  accessories 
that  made  them  sick.  There  was  also  the  real  sick- 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  55 

ness  that  laid  hold  of  a  strong  man  and  dragged 
him  howling  to  the  grave.  Worst  of  all,  their 
officers  knew  just  as  little  of  the  country  as  the 
men  themselves,  and  looked  as  if  they  did.  The 
Fore  and  Aft  were  in  a  thoroughly  unsatisfactory 
condition,  but  they  believed  that  all  would  be  well 
if  they  could  once  get  a  fair  go-in  at  the  enemy. 
Pot-shots  up  and  down  the  valleys  were  unsatis- 
factory, and  the  bayonet  never  seemed  to  get  a 
chance.  Perhaps  it  was  as  well,  for  a  long-limbed 
Afghan  with  a  knife  had  a  reach  of  eight  feet, 
and  could  carry  away  lead  that  would  disable  three 
Englishmen. 

The  Fore  and  Fit  would  like  some  rifle-practice 
at  the  enemy  —  all  seven  hundred  rifles  blazing 
together.  That  wish  showed  the  mood  of  the 
men. 

The  Gurkhas  walked  into  their  camp,  and  in 
broken,  barrack-room  English  strove  to  fraternise 
with  them ;  offered  them  pipes  of  tobacco  and 
stood  them  treat  at  the  canteen.  But  the  Fore 
and  Aft,  not  knowing  much  of  the  nature  of  the 
Gurkhas,  treated  them  as  they  would  treat  any 
other  '  niggers,'  and  the  little  men  in  green  trotted 
back  to  their  firm  friends  the  Highlanders,  and 
with  many  grins  confided  to  them :  '  That  dam 
white  regiment  no  dam  use.  Sulky  —  ugh!  Dirty 
— ugh!  Hya,  any  tot  for  Johnny?'  Whereat  the 


56  SOLDIER  STORIES 

Highlanders  smote  the  Gurkhas  as  to  the  head, 
and  told  them  not  to  vilify  a  British  Regiment, 
and  the  Gurkhas  grinned  cavernously,  for  the 
Highlanders  were  their  elder  brothers  and  entitled 
to  the  privileges  of  kinship.  The  common  soldier 
who  touches  a  Gurkha  is  more  than  likely  to  have 
his  head  sliced  open. 

Three  days  later  the  Brigadier  arranged  a  battle 
according  to  the  rules  of  war  and  the  peculiarity  of 
the  Afghan  temperament.  The  enemy  were  mass- 
ing in  inconvenient  strength  among  the  hills,  and 
the  moving  of  many  green  standards  warned  him 
that  the  tribes  were  '  up '  in  aid  of  the  Afghan 
regular  troops.  A  squadron  and  a  half  of  Bengal 
Lancers  represented  the  available  Cavalry,  and  two 
screw-guns  borrowed  from  a  column  thirty  miles 
away  the  Artillery  at  the  General's  disposal. 

'If  they  stand,  as  I've  a  very  strong  notion  that 
they  will,  I  fancy  we  shall  see  an  infantry  fight 
that  will  be  worth  watching,'  said  the  Brigadier. 
'We'll  do  it  in  style.  Each  regiment  shall  be 
played  into  action  by  its  Band,  and  we'll  hold  the 
Cavalry  in  reserve.' 

'  For  all  the  reserve  ? '   somebody  asked. 

'  For  all  the  reserve ;  because  we're  going  to 
crumple  them  up,'  said  the  Brigadier,  who  was  an 
extraordinary  Brigadier,  and  did  not  believe  in  the 
value  of  a  reserve  when  dealing  with  Asiatics.  In- 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  57 

deed,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  had  the  Brit- 
ish Army  consistently  waited  for  reserves  in  all  its 
little  affairs,  the  boundaries  of  Our  Empire  would 
have  stopped  at  Brighton  beach. 

That  battle  was  to  be  a  glorious  battle. 

The  three  regiments  debouching  from  three  sep- 
arate gorges,  after  duly  crowning  the  heights 
above,  were  to  converge  from  the  centre,  left,  and 
right  upon  what  we  will  call  the  Afghan  army, 
then  stationed  towards  the  lower  extremity  of  a 
flat-bottomed  valley.  Thus  it  will  be  seen  that 
three  sides  of  the  valley  practically  belonged  to 
the  English,  while  the  fourth  was  strictly  Afghan 
property.  In  the  event  of  defeat  the  Afghans  had 
the  rocky  hills  to  fly  to,  where  the  fire  from  the 
guerilla  tribes  in  aid  would  cover  their  retreat.  In 
the  event  of  victory  these  same  tribes  would  rush 
down  and  lend  their  weight  to  the  rout  of  the 
British. 

The  screw-guns  were  to  shell  the  head  of  each 
Afghan  rush  that  was  made  in  close  formation, 
and  the  Cavalry,  held  in  reserve  in  the  right  val- 
ley, were  to  gently  stimulate  the  break-up  which 
would  follow  on  the  combined  attack.  The  Brig- 
adier, sitting  upon  a  rock  overlooking  the  valley, 
would  watch  the  battle  unrolled  at  his  feet.  The 
Fore  and  Aft  would  debouch  from  the  central 
gorge,  the  Gurkhas  from  the  left,  and  the  High- 


58  SOLDIER  STORIES 

landers  from  the  right,  for  the  reason  that  the  left 
flank  of  the  enemy  seemed  as  though  it  required 
the  most  hammering.  It  was  not  every  day  that 
an  Afghan  force  would  take  ground  in  the  open, 
and  the  Brigadier  was  resolved  to  make  the  most 
of  it. 

'  If  we  only  had  a  few  more  men,'  he  said  plain- 
tively, 'we  could  surround  the  creatures  and  crum- 
ple 'em  up  thoroughly.  As  it  is,  I'm  afraid  we 
can  only  cut  them  up  as  they  run.  It's  a  great 
pity.' 

The  Fore  and  Aft  had  enjoyed  unbroken  peace 
for  five  days,  and  were  beginning,  in  spite  of  dys- 
entery, to  recover  their  nerve.  But  they  were  not 
happy,  for  they  did  not  know  the  work  in  hand, 
and  had  they  known,  would  not  have  known  how 
to  do  it.  Throughout  those  five  days  in  which  old 
soldiers  might  have  taught  them  the  craft  of  the 
game,  they  discussed  together  their  misadventures 
in  the  past  —  how  such  an  one  was  alive  at  dawn 
and  dead  ere  the  dusk,  and  with  what  shrieks  and 
struggles  such  another  had  given  up  his  soul  under 
the  Afghan  knife.  Death  was  a  new  and  horrible 
thing  to  the  sons  of  mechanics  who  were  used  to 
die  decently  of  zymotic  disease;  and  their  careful 
conservation  in  barracks  had  done  nothing  to  make 
them  look  upon  it  with  less  dread. 

Very  early  in  the  dawn  the  bugles  began  to  blow. 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  59 

and  the  Fore  and  Aft,  filled  with  a  misguided 
enthusiasm,  turned  out  without  waiting  for  a  cup  of 
coffee  and  a  biscuit ;  and  were  rewarded  by  being 
kept  under  arms  in  the  cold  while  the  other  regi- 
ments leisurely  prepared  for  the  fray.  All  the 
world  knows  that  it  is  ill  taking  the  breeks  off  a 
Highlander.  It  is  much  iller  to  try  to  make  him 
stir  unless  he  is  convinced  of  the  necessity  for 
haste. 

The  Fore  and  Aft  waited,  leaning  upon  their 
rifles  and  listening  to  the  protests  of  their  empty 
stomachs.  The  Colonel  did  his  best  to  remedy  the 
default  of  lining  as  soon  as  it  was  borne  in  upon 
him  that  the  affair  would  not  begin  at  once,  and  so 
well  did  he  succeed  that  the  coffee  was  just  ready 
when  —  the  men  moved  off,  their  Band  leading. 
Even  then  there  had  been  a  mistake  in  time,  and 
the  Fore  and  Aft  came  out  into  the  valley  ten 
minutes  before  the  proper  hour.  Their  Band 
wheeled  to  the  right  after  reaching  the  open,  and 
retired  behind  a  little  rocky  knoll,  still  playing  while 
the  regiment  went  past. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  sight  that  opened  on  the 
uninstructed  view,  for  the  lower  end  of  the  valley 
appeared  to  be  filled  by  an  army  in  position  —  real 
and  actual  regiments  attired  in  red  coats,  and  —  of 
this  there  was  no  doubt  —  firing  Martini-Henry  bul- 
lets which  cut  up  the  ground  a  hundred  yards  in 


60  SOLDIER  STORIES 

front  of  the  leading  company.  Over  that  pock- 
marked ground  the  regiment  had  to  pass,  and  it 
opened  the  ball  with  a  general  and  profound  cour- 
tesy to  the  piping  pickets ;  ducking  in  perfect  time, 
as  though  it  had  been  brazed  on  a  rod.  Being  half- 
capable  of  thinking  for  itself,  it  fired  a  volley  by  the 
simple  process  of  pitching  its  rifle  into  its  shoulder 
and  pulling  the  trigger.  The  bullets  may  have  ac- 
counted for  some  of  the  watchers  on  the  hillside,  but 
they  certainly  did  not  affect  the  mass  of  enemy  in 
front,  while  the  noise  of  the  rifles  drowned  any  or- 
ders that  might  have  been  given. 

'  Good  God ! '  said  the  Brigadier,  sitting  on  the 
rock  high  above  all.  '  That  regiment  has  spoilt 
the  whole  show.  Hurry  up  the  others,  and  let  the 
screw-guns  get  off.' 

But  the  screw-guns,  in  working  round  the  heights, 
had  stumbled  upon  a  wasp's  nest  of  a  small  mud 
fort  which  they  incontinently  shelled  at  eight  hun- 
dred yards,  to  the  huge  discomfort  of  the  occupants, 
who  were  unaccustomed  to  weapons  of  such  devilish 
precision. 

The  Fore  and  Aft  continued  to  go  forward,  but 
with  shortened  stride.  Where  were  the  other  regi- 
ments, and  why  did  these  niggers  use  Martinis  ? 
They  took  open  order  instinctively,  lying  down  and 
firing  at  random,  rushing  a  few  paces  forward  and 
lying  down  again,  according  to  the  regulations. 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  6l 

Once  in  this  formation,  each  man  felt  himself  des- 
perately alone,  and  edged  in  towards  his  fellow  for 
comfort's  sake. 

Then  the  crack  of  his  neighbour's  rifle  at  his  ear 
led  him  to  fire  as  rapidly  as  he  could  —  again  for 
the  sake  of  the  comfort  of  the  noise.  The  reward 
was  not  long  delayed.  Five  volleys  plunged  the  files 
in  banked  smoke  impenetrable  to  the  eye,  and  the 
bullets  began  to  take  ground  twenty  or  thirty  yards 
in  front  of  the  firers,  as  the  weight  of  the  bayonet 
dragged  down  an<J  to  the  right  arms  wearied  with 
holding  the  kick  of  the  leaping  Martini.  The  Corn., 
pany  Commanders  peered  helplessly  through  the 
smoke,  the  more  nervous  mechanically  trying  to  fan 
it  away  with  their  helmets. 

'  High  and  to  the  left ! '  bawled  a  Captain  till  he 
was  hoarse.  '  No  good !  Cease  firing,  and  let  it 
drift  away  a  bit.' 

Three  and  four  times  the  bugles  shrieked  the 
order,  and  when  it  was  obeyed  the  Fore  and  Aft 
looked  that  their  foe  should  be  lying  before  them  in 
mown  swaths  of  men.  A  light  wind  drove  the 
smoke  to  leeward,  and  showed  the  enemy  still  in 
position  and  apparently  unaffected.  A  quarter  of  a 
ton  of  lead  had  been  buried  a  furlong  in  front  of 
them,  as  the  ragged  earth  attested. 

That  was  not  demoralising  to  the  Afghans,  who 
have  not  European  nerves.  They  were  waiting  for 


62  SOLDIER  STORIES 

the  mad  riot  to  die  down,  and  were  firing  quietly 
into  the  heart  of  the  smoke.  A  private  of  the  Fore 
and  Aft  spun  up  his  company  shrieking  with  agony, 
another  was  kicking  the  earth  and  gasping,  and  a 
third,  ripped  through  the  lower  intestines  by  a 
jagged  bullet,  was  calling  aloud  on  his  comrades  to 
put  him  out  of  his  pain.  These  were  the  casualties, 
and  they  were  not  soothing  to  hear  or  see.  The 
smoke  cleared  to  a  dull  haze. 

Then  the  foe  began  to  shout  with  a  great  shout- 
ing, and  a  mass  —  a  black  mass  —  detached  itself 
from  the  main  body,  and  rolled  over  the  ground  at 
horrid  speed.  It  was  composed  of,  perhaps,  three 
hundred  men,  who  would  shout  and  fire  and  slash 
if  the  rush  of  their  fifty  comrades  who  were  deter- 
mined to  die  carried  home.  The  fifty  were  Ghazis, 
half-maddened  with  drugs  and  wholly  mad  with  re- 
ligious fanaticism.  When  they  rushed  the  British 
fire  ceased,  and  in  the  lull  the  order  was  given  to 
close  ranks  and  meet  them  with  the  bayonet. 

Any  one  who  knew  the  business  could  have  told 
the  Fore  and  Aft  that  the  only  way  of  dealing  with 
a  Ghazi  rush  is  by  volleys  at  long  ranges ;  because 
a  man  who  means  to  die,  who  desires  to  die,  who 
will  gain  heaven  by  dying,  must,  in  nine  cases  out 
of  ten,  kill  a  man  who  has  a  lingering  prejudice  in 
favour  of  life.  Where  they  should  have  closed  and 
gone  forward,  the  Fore  and  Aft  opened  out  and 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND   AFT  63 

skirmished,  and  where  they  should  have  opened 
out  and  fired,  they  closed  and  waited. 

A  man  dragged  from  his  blankets  half  awake  and 
unfed  is  never  in  a  pleasant  frame  of  mind.  Nor 
does  his  happiness  increase  when  he  watches  the 
whites  of  the  eyes  of  three  hundred  six-foot  fiends 
upon  whose  beards  the  foam  is  lying,  upon  whose 
tongues  is  a  roar  of  wrath,  and  in  whose  hands  are 
yard-long  knives. 

The  Fore  and  Aft  heard  the  Gurkha  bugles  bring- 
ing that  regiment  forward  at  the  double,  while  the 
neighing  of  the  Highland  pipes  came  from  the  left. 
They  strove  to  stay  where  they  were,  though  the 
bayonets  wavered  down  the  line  like  the  oars  of  a 
ragged  boat.  Then  they  felt  body  to  body  the  amaz- 
ing physical  strength  of  their  foes ;  a  shriek  of  pain 
ended  the  rush,  and  the  knives  fell  amid  scenes  not 
to  be  told.  The  men  clubbed  together  and  smote 
blindly  —  as  often  as  not  at  their  own  fellows.  Their 
front  crumpled  like  paper,  and  the  fifty  Ghazis 
passed  on ;  their  backers,  now  drunk  with  success, 
fighting  as  madly  as  they. 

Then  the  rear-ranks  were  bidden  to  close  up,  and 
the  subalterns  dashed  into  the  stew  —  alone.  For 
the  rear-rank  had  heard  the  clamour  in  front,  the 
yells  and  the  howls  of  pain,  and  had  seen  the  dark 
stale  blood  that  makes  afraid.  They  were  not  going 
to  stay.  It  was  the  rushing  of  the  camps  over  again. 


64  SOLDIER  STORIES 

Let  their  officers  go  to  Hell,  if  they  chose;  they 
would  get  away  from  the  knives. 

'  Come  on ! '  shrieked  the  subalterns,  and  their 
men,  cursing  them,  drew  back,  each  closing  into  his 
neighbour  and  wheeling  round. 

Charteris  and  Devlin,  subalterns  of  the  last  com- 
pany, faced  their  death  alone  in  the  belief  that  their 
men  would  follow. 

'You've  killed  me,  you  cowards,'  sobbed  Devlin 
and  dropped,  cut  from  the  shoulder-strap  to  the 
centre  of  the  chest,  and  a  fresh  detachment  of  his 
men  retreating,  always  retreating,  trampled  him  un- 
der foot  as  they  made  for  the  pass  whence  they  had 
emerged. 

I  kissed  her  in  the  kitchen  and  I  kissed  her  in  the  hall. 

Child'un,  child'un,  follow  me  ! 
Oh  Golly,  said  the  cook,  is  he  gwine  to  kiss  us  all? 

Halla  —  Halla  —  Halla—  Hallelujah ! 

The  Gurkhas  were  pouring  through  the  left  gorge 
and  over  the  heights  at  the  double  to  the  invitation 
of  their  Regimental  Quick-step.  The  black  rocks 
were  crowned  with  dark  green  spiders  as  the  bugles 
gave  tongue  jubilantly : — 

In  the  morning!     In  the  morning  by  the  bright  light! 
When  Gabriel  blows  his  trumpet  in  the  morning! 

The  Gurkha  rear-companies  tripped  and  blundered 
over  loose  stones.  The  front-files  halted  for  a 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  65 

moment  to  take  stock  of  the  valley  and  to  settle 
stray  boot-laces.  Then  a  happy  little  sigh  of  con- 
tentment soughed  down  the  ranks,  and  it  was  as 
though  the  land  smiled,  for  behold  there  below  was 
the  enemy,  and  it  was  to  meet  them  that  the  Gurkhas 
had  doubled  so  hastily.  There  was  much  enemy. 
There  would  be  amusement.  The  little  men  hitched 
their  ktikris  well  to  hand,  and  gaped  expectantly  at 
their  officers  as  terriers  grin  ere  the  stone  is  cast  for 
them  to  fetch.  The  Gurkhas'  ground  sloped  down- 
ward to  the  valley,  and  they  enjoyed  a  fair  view  of 
the  proceedings.  They  sat  upon  the  boulders  to 
watch,  for  their  officers  were  not  going  to  waste  their 
wind  in  assisting  to  repulse  a  Ghazi  rush  more  than 
half  a  mile  away.  Let  the  white  men  look  to  their 
own  front. 

'  Hi !  yi ! '  said  the  Subadar-Major,  who  was 
sweating  profusely.  'Dam  fools  yonder,  stand 
close-order!  This  is  no  time  for  close-order,  it  is 
the  time  for  volleys.  Ugh  ! ' 

Horrified,  amused,  and  indignant,  the  Gurkhas 
beheld  the  retirement  of  the  Fore  and  Aft  with  a 
running  chorus  of  oaths  and  commentaries. 

'  They  run !  The  white  men  run !  Colonel  Sahib, 
may  we  also  do  a  little  running  ? '  murmured  Runbir 
Thappa,  the  Senior  Jemadar. 

But  the  Colonel  would  have  none  of  it.  '  Let 
the  beggars  be  cut  up  a  little,'  said  he  wrath- 


66  SOLDIER  STORIES 

fully.  '  'Serves  'em  right.  They'll  be  prodded  into 
facing  round  in  a  minute.'  He  looked  through  his 
field-glasses,  and  caught  the  glint  of  an  officer's 
sword. 

'  Beating  'em  with  the  flat  —  damned  conscripts  ! 
How  the  Ghazis  are  walking  into  them ! '  said  he. 

The  Fore  and  Aft,  heading  back,  bore  with  them 
their  officers.  The  narrowness  of  the  pass  forced 
the  mob  into  solid  formation,  and  the  rear-rank 
delivered  some  sort  of  a  wavering  volley.  The 
Ghazis  drew  off,  for  they  did  not  know  what  re- 
serves the  gorge  might  hide.  Moreover,  it  was 
never  wise  to  chase  white  men  too  far.  They 
returned  as  wolves  return  to  cover,  satisfied  with 
the  slaughter  that  they  had  done,  and  only  stopping 
to  slash  at  the  wounded  on  the  ground.  A  quarter 
of  a  mile  had  the  Fore  and  Aft  retreated,  and 
now,  jammed  in  the  pass,  was  quivering  with  pain, 
shaken  and  demoralised  with  fear,  while  the  offi- 
cers, maddened  beyond  control,  smote  the  men 
with  the  hilts  and  the  flats  of  their  swords. 

'  Get  back !  Get  back,  you  cowards  —  you  women  ! 
Right  about  face  —  column  of  companies,  form  — 
you  hounds ! '  shouted  the  Colonel,  and  the  subal- 
terns swore  aloud.  But  the  Regiment  wanted  to 
go  —  to  g«  anywhere  out  of  the  range  of  those 
merciless  knives.  It  swayed  to  and  fro  irresolutely 
with  shouts  and  outcries,  while  from  the  right  the 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  67 

Gurkhas  dropped  volley  after  volley  of  cripple- 
stopper  Snider  bullets  at  long  range  into  the  mob 
of  the  Ghazis  returning  to  their  own  troops. 

The  Fore  and  Aft  Band,  though  protected  from 
direct  fire  by  the  rocky  knoll  under  which  it  had 
sat  down,  fled  at  the  first  rush.  Jakin  and  Lew 
would  have  fled  also,  but  their  short  legs  left  them 
fifty  yards  in  the  rear,  and  by  the  time  the  Band 
had  mixed  with  the  regiment,  they  were  painfully 
aware  that  they  would  have  to  close  in  alone  and 
unsupported. 

'  Get  back  to  that  rock,'  gasped  Jakin.  '  They 
won't  see  us  there.' 

And  they  returned  to  the  scattered  instruments 
of  the  Band ;  their  hearts  nearly  bursting  their 
ribs. 

'  Here's  a  nice  show  for  us,'  said  Jakin,  throwing 
himself  full  length  on  the  ground.  'A  bloomin' 
fine  show  for  British  Infantry !  Oh,  the  devils ! 
They've  gone  an'  left  us  alone  here!  Wot'll  we 
do?' 

Lew  took  possession  of  a  cast-off  water  bottle, 
which  naturally  was  full  of  canteen  rum,  and  drank 
till  he  coughed  again. 

'  Drink,'  said  he  shortly.  '  They'll  come  back  in 
a  minute  or  two  —  you  see.' 

Jakin  drank,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  the  Regi- 
ment's return.  They  could  hear  a  dull  clamour  from 


68  SOLDIER  STORIES 

the  head  of  the  valley  of  retreat,  and  saw  the  Ghazis 
slink  back,  quickening  their  pace  as  the  Gurkhas 
fired  at  them. 

'  We're  all  that's  left  of  the  Band,  an'  we'll  be  cut 
up  as  sure  as  death,'  said  Jakin. 

'  I'll  die  game,  then,'  said  Lew  thickly,  fumbling 
with  his  tiny  drummer's  sword.  The  drink  was 
working  on  his  brain  as  it  was  on  Jakin's. 

'  'Old  on !  I  know  something  better  than  fightin',' 
said  Jakin,  'stung  by  the  splendour  of  a  sudden 
thought '  due  chiefly  to  rum.  '  Tip  our  bloomin'  cow- 
ards yonder  the  word  to  come  back.  The  Paythan 
beggars  are  well  away.  Come  on,  Lew  !  We  won't 
get  hurt.  Take  the  fife  and  give  me  the  drum.  The 
Old  Step  for  all  your  bloomin'  guts  are  worth ! 
There's  a  few  of  our  men  coming  back  now.  Stand 
up,  ye  drunken  little  defaulter.  By  your  right  — 
quick  march ! ' 

He  slipped  the  drum-sling  over  his  shoulder, 
thrust  the  fife  into  Lew's  hand,  and  the  two  boys 
marched  out  of  the  cover  of  the  rock  into  the  open, 
making  a  hideous  hash  of  the  first  bars  of  the 
'  British  Grenadiers.' 

As  Jakin  had  said,  a  few  of  the  Fore  and  Aft 
were  coming  back  sullenly  and  shamefacedly  under 
the  stimulus  of  blows  and  abuse;  their  red  coats 
shone  at  the  head  of  the  valley,  and  behind  them 
were  wavering  bayonets.  But  between  this  shat- 


The  tune  settled  into  full  swing,  and  the  boys  kept  shoulder  to 
shoulder.  —  P.  69. 


tered  line  and  the  enemy,  who  with  Afghan  suspi- 
cion feared  that  the  hasty  retreat  meant  an  ambush, 
and  had  not  moved  therefore,  lay  half  a  mile  of  level 
ground  dotted  only  by  the  wounded. 

The  tune  settled  into  full  swing  and  the  boys 
kept  shoulder  to  shoulder,  Jakin  banging  the  drum 
as  one  possessed.  The  one  fife  made  a  thin  and 
pitiful  squeaking,  but  the  tune  carried  far,  even  to 
the  Gurkhas. 

'  Come  on,  you  dogs ! '  muttered  Jakin  to  himself. 
'Are  we  to  play  for  never?'  Lew  was  staring 
straight  in  front  of  him  and  marching  more  stiffly 
than  ever  he  had  done  on  parade. 

And  in  bitter  mockery  of  the  distant  mob,  the 
old  tune  of  the  Old  Line  shrilled  and  rattled:  — 

Some  talk  of  Alexander, 

And  some  of  Hercules ; 
Of  Hector  and  Lysander, 

And  such  great  names  as  these! 

There  was  a  far-off  clapping  of  hands  from  the 
Gurkhas,  and  a  roar  from  the  Highlanders  in  the 
distance,  but  never  a  shot  was  fired  by  British  or 
Afghan.  The  two  little  red  dots  moved  forward  in 
the  open  parallel  to  the  enemy's  front. 

But  of  all  the  world's  great  heroes 
There's  none  that  can  compare, 

With  a  tow-row-row-row-row-row, 
To  the  British  Grenadier! 


70  -  SOLDIER  STORIES 

The  men  of  the  Fore  and  Aft  were  gathering 
thick  at  the  entrance  to  the  plain.  The  Brigadier 
on  the  heights  far  above  was  speechless  with  rage. 
Still  no  movement  from  the  enemy.  The  day  stayed 
to  watch  the  children. 

Jakin  halted  and  beat  the  long  roll  of  the  As- 
sembly, while  the  fife  squealed  despairingly. 

'  Right  about  face !  Hold  up,  Lew,  you're  drunk,' 
said  Jakin.  They  wheeled  and  marched  back :  — 

Those  heroes  of  antiquity 

Ne'er  saw  a  cannon-ball, 
Nor  knew  the  force  o'  powder, 

'  Here  they  come  ! '  said  Jakin.     '  Go  on,  Lew ' :  — • 
To  scare  their  foes  withal ! 

The  Fore  and  Aft  were  pouring  out  of  the  val- 
ley. What  officers  had  said  to  men  in  that  time 
of  shame  and  humiliation  will  never  be  known ;  for 
neither  officers  nor  men  speak  of  it  now. 

'  They  are  coming  anew  ! '  shouted  a  priest  among 
the  Afghans.  '  Do  not  kill  the  boys !  Take  them 
alive  and  they  shall  be  of  our  faith.' 

But  the  first  volley  had  been  fired,  and  Lew 
dropped  on  his  face.  Jakin  stood  for  a  minute, 
spun  round  and  collapsed,  as  the  Fore  and  Aft 
came  forward,  the  curses  of  their  officers  in  their 
ears,  and  in  their  hearts  the  shame  of  open  shame. 

Half   the  men  had  seen  the   drummers   die,  and 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  71 

they  made  no  sign.  They  did  not  even  shout. 
They  doubled  out  straight  across  the  plain  in  open 
order,  and  they  did  not  fire. 

'This/  said  the  Colonel  of  Gurkhas  softly,  'is 
the  real  attack,  as  it  should  have  been  delivered. 
Come  on,  my  children.' 

'  Ulu-lu-lu-lu ! '  squealed  the  Gurkhas,  and  came 
down  with  a  joyful  clicking  of  kukris  —  those  vi- 
cious Gurkha  knives. 

On  the  right  there  was  no  rush.  The  Highland- 
ers, cannily  commending  their  souls  to  God  (for  it 
matters  as  much  to  a  dead  man  whether  he  has 
been  shot  in  a  Border  scuffle  or  at  Waterloo), 
opened  out  and  fired  according  to  their  custom, 
that  is  to  say  without  heat  and  without  intervals, 
while  the  screw-guns,  having  disposed  of  the  im- 
pertinent mud  fort  aforementioned,  dropped  shell 
after  shell  into  the  clusters  round  the  flickering 
green  standards  on  the  heights. 

'  Charrging  is  an  unfortunate  necessity/  murmured 
the  Colour-Sergeant  of  the  right  company  of  the 
Highlanders.  'It  makes  the  men  sweer  so,  but  I 
am  thinkin'  that  it  will  come  to  a  charrge  if  these 
black  devils  stand  much  longer.  Stewarrt,  man, 
you're  firing  into  the  eye  of  the  sun,  and  he'll  not 
take  any  harm  for  Government  ammuneetion.  A 
foot  lower  and  a  great  deal  slower !  What  are  the 
English  doing?  They're  very  quiet  there  in  the 
tentre.  Running  again?' 


72  SOLDIER  STORIES 

The  English  were  not  running.  They  were  hack- 
ing  and  hewing  and  stabbing,  for  though  one  white 
man  is  seldom  physically  a  match  for  an  Afghan 
in  a  sheepskin  or  wadded  coat,  yet,  through  the 
pressure  of  many  white  men  behind,  and  a  cer- 
tain thirst  for  revenge  in  his  heart,  he  becomes 
capable  of  doing  much  with  both  ends  of  his  rifle. 
The  Fore  and  Aft  held  their  fire  till  one  bullet 
could  drive  through  five  or  six  men,  and  the  front 
of  the  Afghan  force  gave  on  the  volley.  They 
then  selected  their  men,  and  slew  them  with  deep 
gasps  and  short  hacking  coughs,  and  groanings  of 
leather  belts  against  strained  bodies,  and  realised 
for  the  first  time  that  an  Afghan  attacked  is  far 
less  formidable  than  an  Afghan  attacking:  which 
fact  old  soldiers  might  have  told  them. 

But  they  had  no  old  soldiers  in  their  ranks. 

The  Gurkhas'  stall  at  the  bazar  was  the  noisiest, 
for  the  men  were  engaged  —  to  a  nasty  noise  as  of 
beef  being  cut  on  the  block  —  with  the  kukri,  which 
they  preferred  to  the  bayonet;  well  knowing  how 
the  Afghan  hates  the  half-moon  blade. 

As  the  Afghans  wavered,  the  green  standards  on 
the  mountain  moved  down  to  assist  them  in  a  last 
rally.  This  was  unwise.  The  Lancers  chafing  in 
the  right  gorge  had  thrice  despatched  their  only 
subaltern  as  galloper  to  report  on  the  progress  of 
affairs.  On  the  third  occasion  he  returned,  with  a 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  73 

bullet-graze  on  his  knee,  swearing  strange  oaths  in 
Hindustani,  and  saying  that  all  things  were  ready. 
So  that  Squadron  swung  round  the  right  of  the 
Highlanders  with  a  wicked  whistling  of  wind  in  the 
pennons  of  its  lances,  and  fell  upon  the  remnant  just 
when,  according  to  all  the  rules  of  war,  it  should 
have  waited  for  the  foe  to  show  more  signs  of 
wavering. 

But  it  was  a  dainty  charge,  deftly  delivered,  and 
it  ended  by  the  Cavalry  finding  itself  at  the  head  of 
the  pass  by  which  the  Afghans  intended  to  retreat ; 
and  down  the  track  that  the  lances  had  made 
streamed  two  companies  of  the  Highlanders,  which 
was  never  intended  by  the  Brigadier.  The  new 
development  was  successful.  It  detached  the  enemy 
from  his  base  as  a  sponge  is  torn  from  a  rock,  and 
left  him  ringed  about  with  fire  in  that  pitiless  plain. 
And  as  a  sponge  is  chased  round  the  bath-tub  by 
the  hand  of  the  bather,  so  were  the  Afghans  chased 
till  they  broke  into  little  detachments  much  more 
difficult  to  dispose  of  than  large  masses. 

'  See  ! '  quoth  the  Brigadier.  '  Everything  has 
come  as  I  arranged.  We've  cut  their  base,  and  now 
we'll  bucket  'em  to  pieces.' 

A  direct  hammering  was  all  that  the  Brigadier 
had  dared  to  hope  for,  considering  the  size  of  the 
force  at  his  disposal ;  but  men  who  stand  or  fall  by 
the  errors  of  their  opponents  may  be  forgiven  for 


74  SOLDIER  STORIES 

turning  Chance  into  Design.  The  bucketing  went 
forward  merrily.  The  Afghan  forces  were  upon  the 
run  —  the  run  of  wearied  wolves  who  snarl  and  bite 
over  their  shoulders.  The  red  lances  dipped  by  twos 
and  threes,  and,  with  a  shriek,  up  rose  the  lance-butt, 
like  a  spar  on  a  stormy  sea,  as  the  trooper  cantering 
forward  cleared  his  point.  The  Lancers  kept  be- 
tween their  prey  and  the  steep  hills,  for  all  who  could 
were  trying  to  escape  from  the  valley  of  death. 
The  Highlanders  gave  the  fugitives  two  hundred 
yards'  law,  and  then  brought  them  down,  gasping 
and  choking  ere  they  could  reach  the  protection  of 
the  boulders  above.  The  Gurkhas  followed  suit ;  but 
the  Fore  and  Aft  were  killing  on  their  own  account, 
for  they  had  penned  a  mass  of  men  between  their 
bayonets  and  a  wall  of  rock,  and  the  flash  of  the 
rifles  was  lighting  the  wadded  coats. 

'  We  cannot  hold  them,  Captain  Sahib ! '  panted 
a  Ressaidar  of  Lancers.  '  Let  us  try  the  carbine. 
The  lance  is  good,  but  it  wastes  time.' 

They  tried  the  carbine,  and  still  the  enemy  melted 
away  —  fled  up  the  hills  by  hundreds  when  there 
were  only  twenty  bullets  to  stop  them.  On  the 
heights  the  screw-guns  ceased  firing  —  they  had  run 
out  of  ammunition  —  and  the  Brigadier  groaned,  for 
the  musketry  fire  could  not  sufficiently  smash  the 
retreat.  Long  before  the  last  volleys  were  fired,  the 
doolies  were  out  in  force  looking  for  the  wounded 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT  75 

The  battle  was  over,  and,  but  for  want  of  fresh 
troops,  the  Afghans  would  have  been  wiped  off  the 
earth.  As  it  was  they  counted  their  dead  by  hun- 
dreds, and  nowhere  were  the  dead  thicker  than  in 
the  track  of  the  Fore  and  Aft. 

But  the  Regiment  did  not  cheer  with  the  High- 
landers, nor  did  they  dance  uncouth  dances  with  the 
Gurkhas  among  the  dead.  They  looked  under  their 
brows  at  the  Colonel  as  they  leaned  upon  their  rifles 
and  panted. 

'  Get  back  to  camp,  you.  Haven't  you  disgraced 
yourself  enough  for  one  day!  Go  and  look  to  the 
wounded.  It's  all  you're  fit  for,'  said  the  Colonel. 
Yet  for  the  past  hour  the  Fore  and  Aft  had  been  do- 
ing all  that  mortal  commander  could  expect.  They 
had  lost  heavily  because  they  did  not  know  how  to  set 
about  their  business  with  proper  skill,  but  they  had 
borne  themselves  gallantly,  and  this  was  their  reward. 

A  young  and  sprightly  Colour-Sergeant,  who  had 
begun  to  imagine  himself  a  hero,  offered  his  water- 
bottle  to  a  Highlander,  whose  tongue  was  black  with 
thirst  '  I  drink  with  no  cowards,'  answered  the 
youngster  huskily,  and,  turning  to  a  Gurkha,  said, 
'  Hya,  Johnny  !  Drink  water  got  it  ? '  The  Gurkha 
grinned  and  passed  his  bottle.  The  Fore  and  Aft 
said  no  word. 

They  went  back  to  camp  when  the  field  of  strife 
had  been  a  little  mopped  up  and  made  presentable, 


76  SOLDIER  STORIES 

and  the  Brigadier,  who  saw  himself  a  Knight  in 
three  months,  was  the  only  soul  who  was  compli- 
mentary to  them.  The  Colonel  was  heart-broken, 
and  the  officers  were  savage  and  sullen. 

'  Well,'  said  the  Brigadier,  '  they  are  young  troops 
of  course,  and  it  was  not  unnatural  that  they  should 
retire  in  disorder  for  a  bit.' 

*  Oh,  my  only  Aunt  Maria ! '  murmured  a  junior 
Staff  Officer.  '  Retire  in  disorder !  It  was  a  bally  run ! ' 

'  But  they  came  again,  as  we  all  know,'  cooed  the 
Brigadier,  the  Colonel's  ashy-white  face  before  him, 
'  and  they  behaved  as  well  as  could  possibly  be  ex- 
pected. Behaved  beautifully,  indeed.  I  was  watch- 
ing them.  It's  not  a  matter  to  take  to  heart, 
Colonel.  As  some  German  General  said  of  his  men, 
they  wanted  to  be  shooted  over  a  little,  that  was  all.' 
To  himself  he  said  — '  Now  they're  blooded  I  can 
give  'em  responsible  work.  It's  as  well  that  they 
got  what  they  did.  'Teach  'em  more  than  half-a- 
dozen  rifle  flirtations,  that  will  —  later  —  run  alone 
and  bite.  Poor  old  Colonel,  though.' 

All  that  afternoon  the  heliograph  winked  and 
flickered  on  the  hills,  striving  to  tell  the  good  news 
to  a  mountain  forty  miles  away.  And  in  the  evening 
there  arrived,  dusty,  sweating,  and  sore,  a  misguided 
Correspondent,  who  had  gone  out  to  assist  at  a 
trumpery  village-burning,  and  who  had  read  off  the 
message  from  afar,  cursing  his  luck  the  while. 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND   AFT 


77 


'  Let's  have  the  details  somehow  —  as  full  as  ever 
you  can,  please.  It's  the  first  time  I've  ever  been 
left  this  campaign,'  said  the  Correspondent  to  the 
Brigadier ;  and  the  Brigadier,  nothing  loath,  told  him 
how  an  Army  of  Communication  had  been  crumpled 
up,  destroyed,  and  all  but  annihilated,  by  the  craft, 
strategy,  wisdom,  and  foresight  of  the  Brigadier. 

But  some  say,  and  among  these  be  the  Gurkhas 
who  watched  on  the  hillside,  that  that  battle  was 
won  by  Jakin  and  Lew,  whose  little  bodies  were 
borne  up  just  in  time  to  fit  two  gaps  at  the  head 
of  the  big  ditch-grave  for  the  dead  under  the 
heights  of  Jagai. 


THE   MAN   WHO   WAS 

The  Earth  gave  up  her  dead  that  tide, 

Into  our  camp  he  came, 
And  said  his  say,  and  went  his  way, 

And  left  our  hearts  aflame. 

Keep  tally — on  the  gun-butt  score 
The  vengeance  we  must  take, 
When  God  shall  bring  full  reckoning, 

For  cur  dead  comrade's  sake. 

Ballad. 

LET  it  be  clearly  understood  that  the  Russian  is  a 
delightful  person  till  he  tucks  in  his  shirt.  As  an 
Oriental  he  is  charming.  It  is  only  when  he  insists 
upon  being  treated  as  the  most  easterly  of  western 
peoples  instead  of  the  most  westerly  of  easterns 
that  he  becomes  a  racial  anomaly  extremely  difficult 
to  handle.  The  host  never  knows  which  side  of 
his  nature  is  going  to  turn  up  next. 

Dirkovitch  was  a  Russian  —  a  Russian  of  the 
Russians  —  who  appeared  to  get  his  bread  by  serv- 
ing the  Czar  as  an  officer  in  a  Cossack  regiment, 
and  corresponding  for  a  Russian  newspaper  with  a 


THE   MAN  WHO  WAS  79 

name  that  was  never  twice  alike.  He  was  a  hand- 
some young  Oriental,  fond  of  wandering  through 
unexplored  portions  of  the  earth,  and  he  arrived 
in  India  from  nowhere  in  particular.  At  least  no 
living  man  could  ascertain  whether  it  was  by  way  of 
Balkh,  Badakshan,  Chitral,  Beluchistan,  or  Nepaul, 
or  anywhere  else.  The  Indian  Government,  being 
in  an  unusually  affable  mood,  gave  orders  that  he 
was  to  be  civilly  treated  and  shown  everything 
that  was  to  be  seen.  So  he  drifted,  talking  bad 
English  and  worse  French,  from  one  city  to  an- 
other, till  he  foregathered  with  Her  Majesty's 
White  Hussars  in  the  city  of  Peshawur,  which 
stands  at  the  mouth  of  that  narrow  swordcut  in 
the  hills  that  men  call  the  Khyber  Pass.  He  was 
undoubtedly  an  officer,  and  he  was  decorated  after 
the  manner  of  the  Russians  with  little  enamelled 
crosses,  and  he  could  talk,  and  (though  this  has 
nothing  to  do  with  his  merits)  he  had  been  given 
up  as  a  hopeless  task,  or  cask,  by  the  Black 
Tyrone,  who  individually  and  collectively,  with  hot 
whisky  and  honey,  mulled  brandy,  and  mixed  spirits 
of  every  kind,  had  striven  in  all  hospitality  to 
make  him  drunk.  And  when  the  Black  Tyrone, 
who  are  exclusively  Irish,  fail  to  disturb  the  peace 
of  head  of  a  foreigner  —  that  foreigner  is  certain 
to  be  a  superior  man. 

The    White    Hussars    were    as    conscientious    in 


80  SOLDIER  STORIES 

choosing  their  wine  as  in  charging  the  enemy. 
All  that  they  possessed,  including  some  wondrous 
brandy,  was  placed  at  the  absolute  disposition  of 
Oirkovitch,  and  he  enjoyed  himself  hugely  —  even 
more  than  among  the  Black  Tyrones. 

But  he  remained  distressingly  European  through 
It  all.  The  White  Hussars  were  '  My  dear  true 
friends,'  '  Fellow-soldiers  glorious,'  and  '  Brothers 
inseparable.'  He  would  unburden  himself  by  the 
hour  on  the  glorious  future  that  awaited  the  com- 
bined arms  of  England  and  Russia  when  their 
hearts  and  their  territories  should  run  side  by  side 
and  the  great  mission  of  civilising  Asia  should 
begin.  That  was  unsatisfactory,  because  Asia  is 
not  going  to  be  civilised  after  the  methods  of  the 
West.  There  is  too  much  Asia  and  she  is  too  old. 
You  cannot  reform  a  lady  of  many  lovers,  and 
Asia  has  been  insatiable  in  her  flirtations  afore- 
time. She  will  never  attend  Sunday  school  or 
learn  to  vote  save  with  swords  for  tickets. 

Dirkovitch  knew  this  as  well  as  any  one  else, 
but  it  suited  him  to  talk  special-correspondently 
and  to  make  himself  as  genial  as  he  could.  Now 
and  then  he  volunteered  a  little,  a  very  little, 
information  about  his  own  sotnia  of  Cossacks,  left 
apparently  to  look  after  themselves  somewhere  at 
the  back  of  beyond.  He  had  done  rough  work  in 
Central  Asia,  and  had  seen  rather  more  help-your- 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  8 1 

self  fighting  than  most  men  of  his  years.  But  he 
was  careful  never  to  betray  his  superiority,  and 
more  than  careful  to  praise  on  all  occasions  the 
appearance,  drill,  uniform,  and  organisation  of  Her 
Majesty's  White  Hussars.  And  indeed  they  were 
a  regiment  to  be  admired.  When  Lady  Durgan, 
widow  of  the  late  Sir  John  Durgan,  arrived  in 
their  station,  and  after  a  short  time  had  been  pro- 
posed to  by  every  single  man  at  mess,  she  put  the 
public  sentiment  very  neatly  when  she  explained 
that  they  were  all  so  nice  that  unless  she  could  marry 
them  all,  including  the  Colonel  and  some  majors 
already  married,  she  was  not  going  to  content  her- 
self with  one  hussar.  Wherefore  she  wedded  a 
little  man  in  a  rifle  regiment,  being  by  nature  con- 
tradictious; and  the  White  Hussars  were  going  to 
wear  crape  on  their  arms,  but  compromised  by 
attending  the  wedding  in  full  force,  and  lining  the 
aisle  with  unutterable  reproach.  She  had  jilted 
them  all  —  from  Basset-Holmer  the  senior  captain 
to  little  Mildred  the  junior  subaltern,  who  could 
have  given  her  four  thousand  a  year  and  a  title. 

The  only  person  who  did  not  share  the  general 
regard  for  the  White  Hussars  were  a  few  thousand 
gentlemen  of  Jewish  extraction  who  lived  across  the 
border,  and  answered  to  the  name  of  Paythan.  They 
had  once  met  the  regiment  officially  and  for  some- 
thing less  than  twenty  minutes,  but  the  interview, 

<S 


S»  SOLDIER  STORIES 

which  was  complicated  with  many  casualties,  had 
filled  them  with  prejudice.  They  even  called  the 
White  Hussars  children  of  the  devil  and  sons  of  per- 
sons whom  it  would  be  perfectly  impossible  to  meet 
in  decent  society.  Yet  they  were  not  above  making 
their  aversion  fill  their  money-belts.  The  regiment 
possessed  carbines  —  beautiful  Martini-Henri  car- 
bines that  would  lop  a  bullet  into  an  enemy's  camp 
at  one  thousand  yards,  and  were  even  handier  than 
the  long  rifle.  Therefore  they  were  coveted  all 
along  the  border,  and  since  demand  inevitably  breeds 
supply,  they  were  supplied  at  the  risk  of  life  and 
limb  for  exactly  their  weight  in  coined  silver  —  seven 
and  one-half  pounds  weight  of  rupees,  or  sixteen 
pounds  sterling  reckoning  the  rupee  at  par.  They 
were  stolen  at  night  by  snaky-haired  thieves  who 
crawled  on  their  stomachs  under  the  nose  of  the  sen- 
tries ;  they  disappeared  mysteriously  from  locked  arm- 
racks,  and  in  the  hot  weather  when  all  the  barrack 
doors  and  windows  were  open,  they  vanished  like 
puffs  of  their  own  smoke.  The  border  people  desired 
them  for  family  vendettas  and  contingencies.  But 
in  the  long  cold  nights  of  the  northern  Indian 
winter  they  were  stolen  most  extensively.  The  traffic 
of  murder  was  liveliest  among  the  hills  at  that  sea- 
son, and  prices  ruled  high.  The  regimental  guards 
were  first  doubled  and  then  trebled.  A  trooper  does 
not  much  care  if  he  loses  a  weapon  —  Government 


THE   MAN   WHO   WAS  83 

must  make  it  good  —  but  he  deeply  resents  the  loss 
of  his  sleep.  The  regiment  grew  very  angry,  and  one 
rifle-thief  bears  the  visible  marks  of  their  anger  upon 
him  to  this  hour.  That  incident  stopped  the  burg- 
laries for  a  time,  and  the  guards  were  reduced 
accordingly,  and  the  regiment  devoted  itself  to  polo 
with  unexpected  results ;  for  it  beat  by  two  goals  to 
one  that  very  terrible  polo  corps  the  Lushkar  Light 
Horse,  though  the  latter  had  four  ponies  apiece  for  a 
short  hour's  fight,  as  well  as  a  native  officer  who 
played  like  a  lambent  flame  across  the  ground. 

They  gave  a  dinner  to  celebrate  the  event.  The 
Lushkar  team  came,  and  Dirkovitch  came,  in  the 
fullest  full  uniform  of  a  Cossack  officer,  which  is  as 
full  as  a  dressing-gown,  and  was  introduced  to  the 
Lushkars,  and  opened  his  eyes  as  he  regarded.  They 
were  lighter  men  than  the  Hussars,  and  they  carried 
themselves  with  the  swing  that  is  the  peculiar  right 
of  the  Punjab  Frontier  Force  and  all  Irregular  Horse. 
Like  everything  else  in  the  Service  it  has  to  be  learnt, 
but,  unlike  many  things,  it  is  never  forgotten,  and 
remains  on  the  body  till  death. 

The  great  beam-roofed  mess-room  of  the  White 
Hussars  was  a  sight  to  be  remembered.  All  the 
mess  plate  was  out  on  the  long  table  —  the  same 
table  that  had  served  up  the  bodies  of  five  officers 
after  a  forgotten  fight  long  and  long  ago — the  dingy, 
battered  standards  faced  the  door  of  entrance,  clumps 


84  SOLDIER  STORIES 

of  winter-roses  lay  between  the  silver  candlesticks, 
and  the  portraits  of  eminent  officers  deceased  looked 
down  on  their  successors  from  between  the  heads  of 
sambhur,  nilghai,  markhor,  and,  pride  of  all  the  mess, 
two  grinning  snow-leopards  that  had  cost  Basset- 
Holmer  four  months'  leave  that  he  might  have  spent 
in  England,  instead  of  on  the  road  to  Thibet  and  the 
daily  risk  of  his  life  by  ledge,  snow-slide,  and  grassy 
slope. 

The  servants  in  spotless  white  muslin  and  the 
crest  of  their  regiments  on  the  brow  of  their  turbans 
waited  behind  their  masters,  who  were  clad  in  the 
scarlet  and  gold  of  the  White  Hussars,  and  the 
cream  and  silver  of  the  Lushkar  Light  Horse. 
Dirkovitch's  dull  green  uniform  was  the  only  dark 
spot  at  the  board,  but  his  big  onyx  eyes  made  up  for 
it.  He  was  fraternising  effusively  with  the  Captain 
of  the  Lushkar  team,  who  was  wondering  how  many 
of  Dirkovitch's  Cossacks  his  own  dark  wiry  down- 
country-men  could  account  for  in  a  fair  charge.  But 
one  does  not  speak  of  these  things  openly. 

The  talk  rose  higher  and  higher,  and  the  regi- 
mental band  played  between  the  courses,  as  is  the 
immemorial  custom,  till  all  tongues  ceased  for  a 
moment  with  the  removal  of  the  dinner-slips  and 
the  first  toast  of  obligation,  when  an  officer  rising 
said,  '  Mr.  Vice,  the  Queen,'  and  little  Mildred  from 
the  bottom  of  the  table  answered,  '  The  Queen,  God 


/it>,  I  lira  Singh  ! '  —  r.  85. 


THE   MAN   WHO   WAS  85 

\ 

bless  her,'  and  the  big  spurs  clanked  as  the  big  men 
heaved  themselves  up  and  drank  the  Queen  upon 
whose  pay  they  were  falsely  supposed  to  settle  their 
mess-bills.  That  Sacrament  of  the  Mess  never  grows 
old,  and  never  ceases  to  bring  a  lump  into  the  throat 
of  the  listener  wherever  he  be  by  sea  or  by  land. 
Dirkovitch  rose  with  his  '  brothers  glorious,'  but  he 
could  not  understand.  No  one  but  an  officer  can 
tell  what  the  toast  means ;  and  the  bulk  have  more 
sentiment  than  comprehension.  Immediately  after 
the  little  silence  that  follows  on  the  ceremony  there 
entered  the  native  officer  who  had  played  for  the 
Lushkar  team.  He  could  not,  of  course,  eat  with 
the  mess,  but  he  came  in  at  dessert,  all  six  feet  of 
him,  with  the  blue  and  silver  turban  atop,  and  the  big 
black  boots  below.  The  mess  rose  joyously  as  he 
thrust  forward  the  hilt  of  his  sabre  in  token  of  fealty 
for  the  Colonel  of  the  White  Hussars  to  touch,  and 
dropped  in  a  vacant  chair  amid  shouts  of :  ' Rung  ho., 
Hira  Singh '  (which  being  translated  means  '  Go 
in  and  win ').  '  Did  I  whack  you  over  the  knee, 
old  man  ? '  '  Ressaidar  Sahib,  what  the  devil  made 
you  play  that  kicking  pig  of  a  pony  in  the  last  ten 
minutes  ? '  '  Shabash,  Ressaidar  Sahib  ! '  Then  the 
voice  of  the  Colonel,  '  The  health  of  Ressaidar  Hira 
Singh!' 

After   the   shouting   had   died   away  Hira   Singh 
rose  to  reply,  for  he  was  the  cadet  of  a  royal  house, 


86  SOLDIER  STORIES 

the  son  of  a  king's  son,  and  knew  what  was  due  on 
these  occasions.  Thus  he  spoke  in  the  vernacular :  — 
'  Colonel  Sahib  and  officers  of  this  regiment.  Much 
honour  have  you  done  me.  This  will  I  remember. 
We  came  down  from  afar  to  play  you.  But  we 
were  beaten '  ('  No  fault  of  yours,  Ressaidar  Sahib. 
Played  on  our  own  ground  y'  know.  Your  ponies 
were  cramped  from  the  railway.  Don't  apologise  ! ') 
'  Therefore  perhaps  we  will  come  again  if  it  be  so 
ordained.'  ('  Hear !  Hear  !  Hear,  indeed  !  Bravo ! 
Hsh  ! ')  '  Then  we  will  play  you  afresh  '  ('  Happy 
to  meet  you.')  '  till  there  are  left  no  feet  upon  our 
ponies.  Thus  far  for  sport.'  He  dropped  one  hand 
on  his  sword-hilt  and  his  eye  wandered  to  Dirkovitch 
lolling  back  in  his  chair.  '  But  if  by  the  will  of  God 
there  arises  any  other  game  which  is  not  the  polo 
game,  then  be  assured,  Colonel  Sahib  and  officers, 
that  we  will  play  it  out  side  by  side,  though  they,' 
again  his  eye  sought  Dirkovitch,  "though  they  I  say 
have  fifty  ponies  to  our  one  horse.'  And  with  a 
deep-mouthed  Rung  ho  !  that  sounded  like  a  musket- 
butt  on  flagstones  he  sat  down  amid  leaping  glasses. 
Dirkovitch,  who  had  devoted  himself  steadily  to 
the  brandy, —  the  terrible  brandy  aforementioned,— 
did  not  understand,  nor  did  the  expurgated  trans- 
lations offered  to  him  at  all  convey  the  point. 
Decidedly  Hira  Singh's  was  the  speech  of  the 
evening,  and  the  clamour  might  have  continued  to 


THE  MAN   WHO  WAS  87 

the  dawn  had  it  not  been  broken  by  the  noise  of 
a  shot  without  that  sent  every  man  feeling  at  his 
defenceless  left  side.  Then  there  was  a  scuffle 
and  a  yell  of  pain. 

'Carbine-stealing  again!'  said  the  Adjutant,  calmly 
sinking  back  in  his  chair.  '  This  comes  of  reducing 
the  guards.  I  hope  the  sentries  have  killed  him.' 

The  feet  of  armed  men  pounded  on  the  veranda 
flags,  and  it  was  as  though  something  was  being 
dragged. 

'  Why  don't  they  put  him  in  the  cells  till  the 
morning?'  said  the  Colonel  testily.  'See  if  they've 
damaged  him,  Sergeant.' 

The  mess-sergeant  fled  out  into  the  darkness  and 
returned  with  two  troopers  and  a  Corporal,  all  very 
much  perplexed. 

'  Caught  a  man  stealin'  carbines,  Sir,'  said  the 
Corporal.  '  Leastways  'e  was  crawlin'  towards  the 
barricks,  Sir,  past  the  main  road  sentries,  an'  the 
sentry  'e  sez,  Sir ' 

The  limp  heap  of  rags  upheld  by  the  three  men 
groaned.  Never  was  seen  so  destitute  and  demor- 
alised an  Afghan.  He  was  turbanless,  shoeless, 
caked  with  dirt,  and  all  but  dead  with  rough  hand- 
ling. Hira  Singh  started  slightly  at  the  sound  of 
the  man's  pain.  Dirkovitch  took  another  glass 
of  brandy. 

'  What  does  the  sentry  say?'  said  the  Colonel. 


88  SOLDIER  STORIES 

'  Sez  'e   speaks   English,  Sir,'  said  the  Corporal. 

'  So  you  brought  him  into  mess  instead  of  hand- 
ing him  over  to  the  sergeant!  If  he  spoke  all  the 
Tongues  of  the  Pentecost  you've  no  business ' 

Again  the  bundle  groaned  and  muttered.  Little 
Mildred  had  risen  from  his  place  to  inspect.  He 
jumped  back  as  though  he  had  been  shot. 

'  Perhaps  it  would  be  better,  Sir,  to  send  the 
men  away,'  said  he  to  the  Colonel,  for  he  was  a 
much  privileged  subaltern.  He  put  his  arms  round 
the  rag-bound  horror  as  he  spoke,  and  dropped 
him  into  a  chair.  It  may  not  have  been  explained 
that  the  littleness  of  Mildred  lay  in  his  being  six 
feet  four  and  big  in  proportion.  The  Corporal, 
seeing  that  an  officer  was  disposed  to  look  after 
the  capture,  and  that  the  Colonel's  eye  was  begin- 
ning to  blaze,  promptly  removed  himself  and  his  men. 
The  mess  was  left  alone  with  the  carbine-thief,  who 
laid  his  head  on  the  table  and  wept  bitterly,  hope- 
lessly, and  inconsolably,  as  little  children  weep. 

Hira  Singh  leapt  to  his  feet.  'Colonel  Sahib,' 
said  he,  'that  man  is  no  Afghan,  for  they  weep 
At!  Ai!  Nor  is  he  of  Hindustan,  for  they  weep 
Oh !  Ho !  He  weeps  after  the  fashion  of  the 
white  men,  who  say  Ow  !  Ow  ! ' 

'Now  where  the  dickens  did  you  get  that  know- 
ledge, Hira  Singh  ? '  said  the  Captain  of  the  Lush- 
kar  team. 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  89 

'  Hear  him  ! '  said  Hira  Singh  simply,  pointing 
at  the  crumpled  figure  that  wept  as  though  it 
would  never  cease. 

'He  said,  "My  God!'"  said  little  Mildred.  'I 
heard  him  say  it.' 

The  Colonel  and  the  mess-room  looked  at  the 
man  in  silence.  It  is  a  horrible  thing  to  hear  a 
man  cry.  A  woman  can  sob  from  the  top  of  her 
palate,  or  her  lips,  or  anywhere  else,  but  a  man  must 
cry  from  his  diaphragm,  and  it  rends  him  to  pieces. 

'  Poor  devil ! '  said  the  Colonel,  coughing  tre- 
mendously. 'We  ought  to  send  him  to  hospital. 
He's  been  man-handled.' 

Now  the  Adjutant  loved  his  carbines.  They 
were  to  him  as  his  grandchildren,  the  men  stand- 
ing in  the  first  place.  He  grunted  rebelliously : 
'  I  can  understand  an  Afghan  stealing,  because 
he's  built  that  way.  But  I  can't  understand  his 
crying.  That  makes  it  worse.' 

The  brandy  must  have  affected  Dirkovitch,  for 
he  lay  back  in  his  chair  and  stared  at  the  ceiling. 
There  was  nothing  special  in  the  ceiling  beyond 
a  shadow  as  of  a  huge  black  coffin.  Owing  to 
some  peculiarity  in  the  construction  of  the  mess- 
room  this  shadow  was  always  thrown  when  the 
candles  were  lighted.  It  never  disturbed  the  diges- 
tion of  the  White  Hussars.  They  were  in  fact 
rather  proud  of  it. 


90  SOLDIER  STORIES 

'Is  he  going  to  cry  all  night?'  said  the  Colonel, 
'or  are  we  supposed  to  sit  up  with  little  Mildred's 
guest  until  he  feels  better?' 

The  man  in  the  chair  threw  up  his  head  and 
stared  at  the  mess.  '  Oh,  my  God ! '  he  said,  and 
every  soul  in  the  mess  rose  to  his  feet.  Then  the 
Lushkar  Captain  did  a  deed  for  which  he  ought  to 
have  been  given  the  Victoria  Cross  —  distinguished 
gallantry  in  a  fight  against  overwhelming  curiosity. 
He  picked  up  his  team  with  his  eyes  as  the  hostess 
picks  up  the  ladies  at  the  opportune  moment,  and 
pausing  only  by  the  Colonel's  chair  to  say,  'This 
isn't  our  affair,  you  know,  Sir,'  led  them  into  the 
veranda  and  the  gardens.  Hira  Singh  was  the 
last  to  go,  and  he  looked  at  Dirkovitch.  But 
Dirkovitch  had  departed  into  a  brandy-paradise  of 
his  own.  His  lips  moved  without  sound  and  he 
•vas  studying  the  coffin  on  the  ceiling. 

'  White  —  white  all  over,'  said  Basset-Holmer,  the 
Adjutant.  'What  a  pernicious  renegade  he  must 
be !  I  wonder  where  he  came  from  ? ' 

The  Colonel  shook  the  man  gently  by  the  arm, 
and  '  Who  are  you  ? '  said  he. 

There  was  no  answer.  The  man  stared  round 
the  mess-room  and  smiled  in  the  Colonel's  face. 
Little  Mildred,  who  was  always  more  of  a  woman 
than  a  man  till  '  Boot  and  saddle '  was  sounded, 
repeated  the  question  in  a  voice  that  would  have 


He  found  the  spring.  —  P.  91. 


THE   MAN   WHO  WAS  91 

drawn  confidences  from  a  geyser.  The  man  only 
smiled.  Dirkovitch  at  the  far  end  of  the  table 
slid  gently  from  his  chair  to  the  floor.  No  son 
of  Adam  in  this  present  imperfect  world  can  mix 
the  Hussars'  champagne  with  the  Hussars'  brandy 
by  five  and  eight  glasses  of  each  without  remem- 
bering the  pit  whence  he  was  digged  and  descend- 
ing thither.  The  band  began  to  play  the  tune 
with  which  the  White  Hussars  from  the  date  of 
their  formation  have  concluded  all  their  functions. 
They  would  sooner  be  disbanded  than  abandon 
that  tune ;  it  is  a  part  of  their  system.  The  man 
straightened  himself  in  his  chair  and  drummed  on 
the  table  with  his  fingers. 

1 1  don't  see  why  we  should  entertain  lunatics,' 
said  the  Colonel.  '  Call  a  guard  and  send  him  off  to 
the  cells.  We'll  look  into  the  business  in  the  morn- 
ing. Give  him  a  glass  of  wine  first  though.' 

Little  Mildred  filled  a  sherry-glass  with  the  brandy 
and  thrust  it  over  to  the  man.  He  drank,  and  the 
tune  rose  louder,  and  he  straightened  himself  yet 
more.  Then  he  put  out  his  long-taloned  hands  to  a 
piece  of  plate  opposite  and  fingered  it  lovingly. 
There  was  a  mystery  connected  with  that  piece  of 
plate,  in  the  shape  of  a  spring  which  converted  what 
was  a  seven-branched  candlestick,  three  springs  on 
each  side  and  one  in  the  middle,  into  a  sort  of  wheel- 
spoke  candelabrum.  He  found  the  spring,  pressed 


92  SOLDIER  STORIES 

it,  and  laughed  weakly.  He  rose  from  his  chair 
and  inspected  a  picture  on  the  wall,  then  moved  on 
to  another  picture,  the  mess  watching  him  without  a 
word.  When  he  came  to  the  mantelpiece  he  shook 
his  head  and  seemed  distressed.  A  piece  of  plate 
representing  a  mounted  hussar  in  full  uniform 
caught  his  eye.  He  pointed  to  it,  and  then  to  the 
mantelpiece  with  inquiry  in  his  eyes. 

'What  is  it  —  oh  what  is  it?'  said  little  Mildred. 
Then  as  a  mother  might  speak  to  a  child,  '  That  is 
a  horse.  Yes,  a  horse.' 

Very  slowly  came  the  answer  in  a  thick,  passion- 
less guttural  —  'Yes,  I  —  have  seen.  But  —  where 
is  the  horse?' 

You  could  have  heard  the  hearts  of  the  mess  beat- 
ing as  the  men  drew  back  to  give  the  stranger  full 
room  in  his  wanderings.  There  was  no  question  of 
calling  the  guard. 

Again  he  spoke  —  very  slowly,  'Where  is  our 
horse  ? ' 

There  is  but  one  horse  in  the  White  Hussars,  and 
his  portrait  hangs  outside  the  door  of  the  mess-room. 
He  is  the  piebald  drum-horse,  the  king  of  the  regi- 
mental band,  that  served  the  regiment  for  seven-and- 
thirty  years,  and  in  the  end  was  shot  for  old  age. 
Half  the  mess  tore  the  thing  down  from  its  place 
and  thrust  it  into  the  man's  hands.  He  placed  it 
above  the  mantelpiece,  it  clattered  on  the  ledge  as 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  93 

his  poor  hands  dropped  it,  and  he  staggered  towards 
the  bottom  of  the  table,  falling  into  Mildred's  chair. 
Then  all  the  men  spoke  to  one  another  something 
after  this  fashion,  '  The  drum-horse  hasn't  hung  over 
the  mantelpiece  since  '67.'  '  How  does  he  know  ? ' 
4  Mildred,  go  and  speak  to  him  again.'  '  Colonel, 
what  are  you  going  to  do  ? '  '  Oh,  dry  up,  and  give 
the  poor  devil  a  chance  to  pull  himself  together.' 
4  It  isn't  possible  anyhow.  The  man's  a  lunatic.' 

Little  Mildred  stood  at  the  Colonel's  side  talking 
in  his  ear.  '  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  take  your 
seats,  please,  gentlemen ! '  he  said,  and  the  mess 
dropped  into  the  chairs.  Only  Dirkovitch's  seat, 
next  to  little  Mildred's,  was  blank,  and  little  Mildred 
himself  had  found  Hira  Singh's  place.  The  wide- 
eyed  mess-sergeant  filled  the  glasses  in  dead  silence. 
Once  more  the  Colonel  rose,  but  his  hand  shook,  and 
the  port  spilled  on  the  table  as  he  looked  straight  at 
the  man  in  little  Mildred's  chair  and  said  hoarsely, 
4  Mr.  Vice,  the  Queen.'  There  was  a  little  pause, 
but  the  man  sprung  to  his  feet  and  answered  with- 
out hesitation,  '  The  Queen,  God  bless  her ! '  and  as 
he  emptied  the  thin  glass  he  snapped  the  shank 
between  his  fingers. 

Long  and  long  ago,  when  the  Empress  of  India 
was  a  young  woman  and  there  were  no  unclean 
ideals  in  the  land,  it  was  the  custom  of  a  few  messes 
to  drink  the  Queen's  toast  in  broken  glass,  to  the 


94  SOLDIER  STORIES 

vast  delight  of  the  mess-contractors.  The  custom  is 
now  dead,  because  there  is  nothing  to  break  any- 
thing for,  except  now  and  again  the  word  of  a  Gov- 
ernment, and  that  has  been  broken  already. 

'That  settles  it,'  said  the  Colonel,  with  a  gasp. 
'  He's  not  a  sergeant.  What  in  the  world  is  he  ? ' 

The  entire  mess  echoed  the  word,  and  the  volley 
of  questions  would  have  scared  any  man.  It  was  no 
wonder  that  the  ragged,  filthy  invader  could  only 
smile  and  shake  his  head. 

From  under  the  table,  calm  and  smiling,  rose 
Dirkovitch,  who  had  been  roused  from  healthful 
slumber  by  feet  upon  his  body.  By  the  side  of  the 
man  he  rose,  and  the  man  shrieked  and  grovelled. 
It  was  a  horrible  sight  coming  so  swiftly  upon  the 
pride  and  glory  of  the  toast  that  had  brought  the 
strayed  wits  together. 

Dirkovitch  made  no  offer  to  raise  him,  but  little 
Mildred  heaved  him  up  in  an  instant.  It  is  not 
good  that  a  gentleman  who  can  answer  to  the 
Queen's  toast  should  lie  at  the  feet  of  a  subaltern 
of  Cossacks. 

The  hasty  action  tore  the  wretch's  upper  clothing 
nearly  to  the  waist,  and  his  body  was  seamed  with 
dry  black  scars.  There  is  only  one  weapon  in  the 
world  that  cuts  in  parallel  lines,  and  it  is  neither 
the  cane  nor  the  cat.  Dirkovitch  saw  the  marks, 
and  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  dilated.  Also  his  face 


It  is  not  good  that  a  gentleman  who  can  ans\\er  to  the  Queen's  toast 
should  lie  at  the  feet  of  a  subaltern  of  Cossacks.  —  P.  94. 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  95 

changed.  He  said  something  that  sounded  like 
Shto  ve  takete,  and  the  man  fawning  answered, 
Chetyre. 

'What's  that?'  said  everybody  together. 

'His  number.  That  is  number  four,  you  know,1 
Dirkovitch  spoke  very  thickly. 

'  What  has  a  Queen's  officer  to  do  with  a  qualified 
Aumber  ? '  said  the  Colonel,  and  an  unpleasant  growl 
ran  round  the  table. 

'  How  can  I  tell  ? '  said  the  affable  Oriental  with  a 
sweet  smile.  'He  is  a  —  how  you  have  it?  —  escape 
—  run-a-way,  from  over  there.'  He  nodded  towards 
the  darkness  of  the  night. 

'  Speak  to  him  if  he'll  answer  you,  and  speak  to 
him  gently,'  said  little  Mildred,  settling  the  man  in 
a  chair.  It  seemed  most  improper  to  all  present 
that  Dirkovitch  should  sip  brandy  as  he  talked  in 
purring,  spitting  Russian  to  the  creature  who  an- 
swered so  feebly  and  with  such  evident  dread.  But 
since  Dirkovitch  appeared  to  understand  no  one 
said  a  word.  All  breathed  heavily,  leaning  forward, 
in  the  long  gaps  of  the  conversation.  The  next 
time  that  they  have  no  engagements  on  hand  the 
White  Hussars  intend  to  go  to  St.  Petersburg  in  a 
body  to  learn  Russian. 

'  He  does  not  know  how  many  years  ago,'  said 
Dirkovitch  facing  tiie  mess,  '  but  he  says  it  was  very 
long  ago  in  the  war.  I  think  that  there  was  an  acci- 


9<5  SOLDIER  STORIES 

dent.     He  says  he  was  of  this  glorious   and  distin 
guished  regiment  in  the  war.' 

'The  rolls!  The  rolls!  Holmer,  get  the  rolls!' 
said  little  Mildred,  and  the  Adjutant  dashed  off  bare- 
headed to  the  orderly-room,  where  the  muster-rolls 
of  the  regiment  were  kept.  He  returned  just  in  time 
to  hear  Dirkovitch  conclude,  'Therefore,  my  dear 
friends,  I  am  most  sorry  to  say  there  was  an  accident 
which  would  have  been  reparable  if  he  had  apolo- 
gised to  that  our  colonel,  which  he  had  insulted.' 

Then  followed  another  growl  which  the  Colonel 
tried  to  beat  down.  The  mess  was  in  no  mood  just 
then  to  weigh  insults  to  Russian  colonels. 

'  He  does  not  remember,  but  I  think  that  there 
was  an  accident,  and  so  he  was  not  exchanged 
among  the  prisoners,  but  he  was  sent  to  another 
place  —  how  do  you  say  ?  —  the  country.  So,  he 
says,  he  came  here.  He  does  not  know  how  he 
came.  Eh?  He  was  at  Chepany ' — the  man  caught 
the  word,  nodded,  and  shivered  — '  at  Zhigansk  and 
Irkutsk.  I  cannot  understand  how  he  escaped.  He 
says,  too,  that  he  was  in  the  forests  for  many  years, 
but  how  many  years  he  has  forgotten  —  that  with 
many  things.  It  was  an  accident ;  done  because  he 
did  not  apologise  to  that  our  colonel.  Ah ! ' 

Instead  of  echoing  Dirkovitch's  sigh  of  regret,  it 
is  sad  to  record  that  the  White  Hussars  livelily 
exhibited  un-Christian  delight  and  other  emotions, 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  97 

hardly  restrained  by  their  sense  of  hospitality. 
Holmer  flung  the  frayed  and  yellow  regimental  rolls 
on  the  table,  and  the  men  flung  themselves  at  these. 

'  Steady !  Fifty-six  —  fifty-five  —  fifty-four,'  said 
Holmer.  '  Here  we  are.  "  Lieutenant  Austin  Lim- 
mason.  Missing."  That  was  before  Sebastopol. 
What  an  infernal  shame !  Insulted  one  of  their 
colonels,  and  was  quietly  shipped  off.  Thirty  years 
of  his  life  wiped  out.' 

'  But  he  never  apologised.  Said  he'd  see  him 
damned  first,'  chorussed  the  mess. 

'  Poor  chap !  I  suppose  he  never  had  the  chance 
afterwards.  How  did  he  come  here  ? '  said  the  Colonel 

The  dingy  heap  in  the  chair  could  give  no  answer 

'  Do  you  know  who  you  are  ? ' 

It  laughed  weakly. 

'  Do  you  know  that  you  are  Limmason  —  Lieu- 
tenant Limmason  of  the  White  Hussars  ? ' 

Swiftly  as  a  shot  came  the  answer,  in  a  slightly 
surprised  tone,  '  Yes,  I'm  Limmason,  of  course.' 
The  light  died  out  in  his  eyes,  and  the  man  col- 
lapsed, watching  every  motion  of  Dirkovitch  with 
terror.  A  flight  from  Siberia  may  fix  a  few  ele- 
mentary facts  in  the  mind,  but  it  does  not  seem  to 
lead  to  continuity  of  thought.  The  man  could  not 
explain  how,  like  a  homing  pigeon,  he  had  found  his 
way  to  his  own  old  mess  again.  Of  what  he  had 
suffered  or  seen  he  knew  nothing.  He  cringed 
u 


98  SOLDIER  STORIES 

before  Dirkovitch  as  instinctively  as  he  had  pressed 
the  spring  of  the  candlestick,  sought  the  picture  of 
the  drum-horse,  and  answered  to  the  toast  of  the 
Queen.  The  rest  was  a  blank  that  the  dreaded 
Russian  tongue  could  only  in  part  remove.  His 
head  bowed  on  his  breast,  and  he  giggled  and 
cowered  alternately. 

The  devil  that  lived  in  the  brandy  prompted 
Dirkovitch  at  this  extremely  inopportune  moment  to 
make  a  speech.  He  rose,  swaying  slightly,  gripped 
the  table-edge,  while  his  eyes  glowed  like  opals,  and 
began: — 

'Fellow-soldiers  glorious  —  true  friends  and  hos- 
pitables.  It  was  an  accident,  and  deplorable  —  most 
deplorable.'  Here  he  smiled  sweetly  all  round  the 
mess.  '  But  you  will  think  of  this  little,  little  thing. 
So  little,  is  it  not  ?  The  Czar !  Posh !  I  slap  my 
fingers  —  I  snap  my  fingers  at  him.  Do  I  believe  in 
him  ?  No  !  But  in  us  Slav  who  has  done  nothing, 
him  I  believe.  Seventy — how  much  —  millions  peo- 
ples that  have  done  nothing  —  not  one  thing.  Posh  ! 
Napoleon  was  an  episode.'  He  banged  a  hand  on 
the  table.  '  Hear  you,  old  peoples,  we  have  done 
nothing  in  the  world  —  out  here.  All  our  work  is  to 
do  ;  and  it  shall  be  done,  old  peoples.  Get  a-way ! ' 
He  waved  his  hand  imperiously,  and  pointed  to  the 
man.  '  You  see  him.  He  is  no  good  to  see.  HS 
was  just  one  little  —  oh,  so  little  —  accident,  that  nq 


THE   MAN   WHO   WAS  99 

one  remembered.  Now  he  is  That!  So  will  you 
be,  brother  soldiers  so  brave  —  so  will  you  be.  But 
you  will  never  come  back.  You  will  all  go  where  he 
is  gone,  or  '  —  he  pointed  to  the  great  coffin-shadow 
on  the  ceiling,  and  muttering,  '  Seventy  millions  — 
get  a-way,  you  old  peoples,'  fell  asleep. 

'  Sweet,  and  to  the  point,'  said  little  Mildred. 
'  What's  the  use  of  getting  wroth  ?  Let's  make  this 
poor  devil  comfortable.' 

But  that  was  a  matter  suddenly  and  swiftly  taken 
from  the  loving  hands  of  the  White  Hussars.  The 
lieutenant  had  returned  only  to  go  away  again  three 
days  later,  when  the  wail  of  the  Dead  March,  and 
the  tramp  of  the  squadrons,  told  the  wondering 
Station,  who  saw  no  gap  in  the  mess-table,  that  an 
officer  of  the  regiment  had  resigned  his  new-found 
commission. 

And  Dirkovitch,  bland,  supple,  and  always  genial, 
went  away  too,  by  a  night  train.  Little  Mildred 
and  another  man  saw  him  off,  for  he  was  the  guest 
of  the  mess,  and  even  had  he  smitten  the  Colonel 
with  the  open  hand,  the  law  of  that  mess  allowed 
no  relaxation  of  hospitality. 

'Good-bye,  Dirkovitch,  and  a  pleasant  journey,' 
said  little  Mildred. 

'  Au  revoir,'  said  the  Russian. 

'  Indeed  !    But  we  thought  you  were  going  home  ? ' 

'  Yes,  but  I  will  come  again.     My  dear  friends,  is 


100 


SOLDIER  STORIES 


that  road  shut?'  He  pointed  to  where  the  North 
Star  burned  over  the  Khyber  Pass. 

'By  Jove!  I  forgot.  Of  course.  Happy  to  meet 
fou,  old  man,  any  time  you  like.  Got  everything 
you  want  ?  Cheroots,  ice,  bedding  ?  That's  all 
right.  Well,  au  revoir,  Dirkovitch.' 

'  Um/  said  the  other  man,  as  the  tail-lights  of  the 
train  grew  small.  'Of — all — th  e — unmitigated ! ' 

Little  Mildred  answered  nothing,  but  watched  the 
North  Star  and  hummed  a  selection  from  a  recent 
Simla  burlesque  that  had  much  delighted  the  White 
Hussars.  It  ran:  — 

I'm  sorry  for  Mister  Bluebeard, 
I'm  sorry  to  cause  him  pain ; 
But  a  terrible  spree  there's  sure  to  be 
When  he  comes  back  again. 


THE  COURTING   OF   DINAH   SHADD 

What  did  the  colonel's  lady  think 

Nobody  never  knew. 
Somebody  asked  the  sergeant's  wife 

An*  she  told  'em,  true. 
When  you  git  to  a  man  in  the  case 

They're  like  a  row  o'  pins, 
For  the  colonel's  lady  an'  Judy  O'Grady 

Are  sisters  under  their  skins. 

Barrack  Room  Ballad. 

ALL  day  I  had  followed  at  the  heels  of  a  pursuing 
army  engaged  on  one  of  the  finest  battles  that  ever 
camp  of  exercise  beheld.  Thirty  thousand  troops 
had  by  the  wisdom  of  the  Government  of  India  been 
turned  loose  over  a  few  thousand  square  miles  of 
country  to  practise  in  peace  what  they  would  never 
attempt  in  war.  Consequently  cavalry  charged  un- 
shaken infantry  at  the  trot.  Infantry  captured 
artillery  by  frontal  attacks  delivered  in  line  of  quar- 
ter columns,  and  mounted  infantry  skirmished  up 
to  the  wheels  of  an  armoured  train  which  carried 

101 


10 3  SOLDIER  STORIES 

nothing  more  deadly  than  a  twenty-five  pounder 
Armstrong,  two  Nordenfeldts,  and  a  few  score  vol- 
unteers all  cased  in  three-eighths-inch  boiler-plate. 
Yet  it  was  a  very  lifelike  camp.  Operations  did  not 
cease  at  sundown  ;  nobody  knew  the  country  and  no- 
body spared  man  or  horse.  There  was  unending 
cavalry  scouting  and  almost  unending  forced  work 
over  broken  ground.  The  Army  of  the  South  had 
finally  pierced  the  centre  of  the  Army  of  the  North, 
and  was  pouring  through  the  gap  hot-foot  to  capture 
a  city  of  strategic  importance.  Its  front  extended 
fanwise,  the  sticks  being  represented  by  regiments 
strung  out  along  the  line  of  route  backwards  to  the 
divisional  transport  columns  and  all  the  lumber  that 
trails  behind  an  army  on  the  move.  On  its  right 
the  broken  left  of  the  Army  of  the  North  was  flying 
in  mass,  chased  by  the  Southern  horse  and  ham- 
mered by  the  Southern  guns  till  these  had  been 
pushed  far  beyond  the  limits  of  their  last  support. 
Then  the  flying  sat  down  to  rest,  while  the  elated 
commandant  of  the  pursuing  force  telegraphed  that 
he  held  all  in  check  and  observation. 

Unluckily  he  did  not  observe  that  three  miles  to 
his  right  flank  a  flying  column  of  Northern  horse 
with  a  detachment  of  Gurkhas  and  British  troops 
had  been  pushed  round,  as  fast  as  the  failing  light 
allowed,  to  cut  across  the  entire  rear  of  the  Southern 
Army,  to  break,  as  it  were,  all  the  ribs  of  the  fan 


THE  COURTING   OF   DINAH   SHADD  103 

where  they  converged  by  striking  at  the  transport, 
reserve  ammunition,  and  artillery  supplies.  Their 
instructions  were  to  go  in,  avoiding  the  few  scouts 
who  might  not  have  been  drawn  off  by  the  pursuit, 
and  create  sufficient  excitement  to  impress  the 
Southern  Army  with  the  wisdom  of  guarding  their 
own  flank  and  rear  before  they  captured  cities.  It 
was  a  pretty  manoeuvre,  neatly  carried  out. 

Speaking  for  the  second  division  of  the  Southern 
Army,  our  first  intimation  of  the  attack  was  at  twi* 
light,  when  the  artillery  were  labouring  in  deep  sand, 
most  of  the  escort  were  trying  to  help  them  out, 
and  the  main  body  of  the  infantry  had  gone  on.  A 
Noah's  Ark  of  elephants,  camels,  and  the  mixed 
menagerie  of  an  Indian  transport  train  bubbled  and 
squealed  behind  the  guns,  when  there  appeared  from 
nowhere  in  particular  British  infantry  to  the  extent 
of  three  companies,  who  sprang  to  the  heads  of  the 
gun-horses  and  brought  all  to  a  standstill  amid  oaths 
and  cheers. 

'How's  that,  umpire?'  said  the  Major  command- 
ing the  attack,  and  with  one  voice  the  drivers  and 
limber  gunners  answered  '  Hout ! '  while  the  Colonel 
of  Artillery  sputtered. 

'All  your  scouts  are  charging  our  main  body,' 
said  the  Major.  'Your  flanks  are  unprotected  for 
two  miles.  I  think  we've  broken  the  back  of  this 
division.  And  listen,  —  there  go  the  Gurkhas ! ' 


104  SOLDIER  STORIES 

A  weak  fire  broke  from  the  rear-guard  more  than 
a  mile  away,  and  was  answered  by  cheerful  howlings. 
The  Gurkhas,  who  should  have  swung  clear  of  the 
second  division,  had  stepped  on  its  tail  in  the  dark,  but 
drawing  off  hastened  to  reach  the  next  line  of  attack, 
which  lay  almost  parallel  to  us  five  or  six  miles  away. 

Our  column  swayed  and  surged  irresolutely, — • 
three  batteries,  the  divisional  ammunition  reserve, 
the  baggage,  and  a  section  of  the  hospital  and  bearer 
corps.  The  commandant  ruefully  promised  to  report 
himself  '  cut  up '  to  the  nearest  umpire,  and  com- 
mending his  cavalry  and  all  other  cavalry  to  the 
special  care  of  Eblis,  toiled  on  to  resume  touch  with 
the  rest  of  the  division. 

'  We'll  bivouac  here  to-night,'  said  the  Major ;  '  I 
have  a  notion  that  the  Gurkhas  will  get  caught. 
They  may  want  us  to  re-form  on.  Stand  easy  till 
the  transport  gets  away.' 

A  hand  caught  my  beast's  bridle  and  led  him 
out  of  the  choKing  dust;  a  larger  hand  deftly 
canted  me  out  of  the  saddle ;  and  two  of  the 
hugest  hands  in  the  world  received  me  sliding. 
Pleasant  is  the  lot  of  the  special  correspondent 
who  falls  into  such  hands  as  those  of  Privates 
Mulvaney,  Ortheris,  and  Learoyd. 

'  An'  that's  all  right,'  said  the  Irishman  calmly. 
'We  thought  we'd  find  you  somewheres  here  by. 
Is  there  anything  av  yours  in  the  transport  ? 
Orth'ris'll  fetch  ut  out' 


THE  COURTING   OF  DINAH   SHADD  105 

Ortheris  did  '  fetch  ut  out,'  from  under  the  trunk 
of  an  elephant,  in  the  shape  of  a  servant  and  an 
animal,  both  laden  with  medical  comforts.  The 
little  man's  eyes  sparkled. 

'  If  the  brutil  an'  licentious  soldiery  av  these 
parts  gets  sight  av  the  thruck,'  said  Mulvaney, 
making  practised  investigation,  '  they'll  loot  ev'ry- 
thing.  They're  bein*  fed  on  iron-nlin's  an'  dog- 
biscuit  these  days,  but  glory's  no  compensation  for 
a  belly-ache.  Praise  be,  we're  here  to  protect  you, 
Sorr.  Beer,  sausage,  bread  (soft  an'  that's  a  cur'- 
osity),  soup  in  a  tin,  whisky  by  the  smell  av  ut, 
an'  fowls !  Mother  av  Moses,  but  ye  take  the  field 
like  a  confectioner!  'Tis  scand'lus.' 

'  'Ere's  a  orficer,'  said  Ortheris  significantly. 
'  When  the  sergent's  done  lushin'  the  privit  may 
clean  the  pot.' 

I  bundled  several  things  into  Mulvaney's  haver- 
sack before  the  Major's  hand  fell  on  my  shoulder 
and  he  said  tenderly,  '  Requisitioned  for  the  Queen's 
service.  Wolseley  was  quite  wrong  about  special 
correspondents:  they  are  the  soldier's  best  friends. 
Come  and  take  pot-luck  with  us  to-night.' 

And  so  it  happened  amid  laughter  and  shoutings 
that  my  well-considered  commissariat  melted  away 
to  reappear  later  at  the  mess-table,  which  was  a 
waterproof  sheet  spread  on  the  ground.  The  fly- 
ing column  had  taken  three  days'  rations  with  it, 


106  SOLDIER  STORIES 

and  there  be  few  things  nastier  than  government 
rations  —  especially  when  government  is  experiment- 
ing with  German  toys.  Erbswurst,  tinned  beef  of 
surpassing  tinniness,  compressed  vegetables,  and 
meat-biscuits  may  be  nourishing,  but  what  Thomas 
Atkins  needs  is  bulk  in  his  inside.  The  Major, 
assisted  by  his  brother  officers,  purchased  goats 
for  the  camp  and  so  made  the  experiment  of  no 
effect.  Long  before  the  fatigue-party  sent  to  col- 
lect brushwood  had  returned,  the  men  were  settled 
down  by  their  valises,  kettles  and  pots  had  ap- 
peared from  the  surrounding  country  and  were 
dangling  over  fires  as  the  kid  and  the  compressed 
vegetable  bubbled  together;  there  rose  a  cheerful 
clinking  of  mess-tins ;  outrageous  demands  for  '  a 
little  more  stuffin'  with  that  there  liver-wing ' ;  and 
gust  on  gust  of  chaff  as  pointed  as  a  bayonet  and 
as  delicate  as  a  gun-butt. 

'The  boys  are  in  a  good  temper,'  said  the  Major. 
'They'll  be  singing  presently.  Well,  a  night  like 
this  is  enough  to  keep  them  happy.' 

Over  our  heads  burned  the  wonderful  Indian 
stars,  which  are  not  all  pricked  in  on  one  plane, 
but,  preserving  an  orderly  perspective,  draw  the 
eye  through  the  velvet  darkness  of  the  void  up 
to  the  barred  doors  of  heaven  itself.  The  earth 
was  a  gray  shadow  more  unreal  than  the  sky.  We 
could  hear  her  breathing  lightly  in  the  pauses  be- 


THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH   SHADD  107 

tween  the  howling  of  the  jackals,  the  movement  of 
the  wind  in  the  tamarisks,  and  the  fitful  mutter  of 
musketry-fire  leagues  away  to  the  left.  A  native 
woman  from  some  unseen  hut  began  to  sing,  the 
mail-train  thundered  past  on  its  way  to  Delhi,  and 
a  roosting  crow  cawed  drowsily.  Then  there  was  a 
belt-loosening  silence  about  the  fires,  and  the  even 
breathing  of  the  crowded  earth  took  up  the  story. 
The  men,  full  fed,  turned  to  tobacco  and  song,  — 
their  officers  with  them.  The  subaltern  is  happy 
who  can  win  the  approval  of  the  musical  critics  in 
his  regiment,  and  is  honoured  among  the  more  in- 
tricate step-dancers.  By  him,  as  by  him  who  plays 
cricket  cleverly,  Thomas  Atkins  will  stand  in  time 
of  need,  when  he  will  let  a  better  officer  go  on 
alone.  The  ruined  tombs  of  forgotten  Mussulman 
saints  heard  the  ballad  of  Agra  Town,  The  Buffalo 
Battery,  Marching  to  Kabul,  The  long,  long  Indian 
Day,  The  Place  where  the  Punkah-coolie  died,  and 
that  crashing  chorus  which  announces, 

Youth's  daring  spirit,  manhood's  fire, 

Firm  hand  and  eagle  eye, 
Must  he  acquire,  who  would  aspire 

To  see  the  gray  boar  die. 

To-day,  of  all  those  jovial  thieves  who  appro- 
priated my  commissariat  and  lay  and  laughed  round 
that  waterproof  sheet,  not  one  remains.  They  went 
to  camps  that  were  not  of  exercise  and  battles 


108  SOLDIER  STORIES 

without  empires.  Burmah,  the  Soudan,  and  the 
frontier,  —  fever  and  fight,  —  took  them  in  their  time. 

I  drifted  across  to  the  men's  fires  in  search  of 
Mulvaney,  whom  I  found  strategically  greasing  his 
feet  by  the  blaze.  There  is  nothing  particularly 
lovely  in  the  sight  of  a  private  thus  engaged  after 
a  long  day's  march,  but  when  you  reflect  on  the 
exact  proportion  of  the  'might,  majesty,  dominion, 
and  power'  of  the  British  Empire  which  stands  on 
those  feet  you  take  an  interest  in  the  proceedings. 

'There's  a  blister,  bad  luck  to  ut,  on  the  heel,' 
said  Mulvaney.  '  I  can't  touch  ut.  Prick  ut  out, 
little  man.' 

Ortheris  took  out  his  housewife,  eased  the  trouble 
with  a  needle,  stabbed  Mulvaney  in  the  calf  with  the 
same  weapon,  and  was  swiftly  kicked  into  the  fire. 

'  I've  bruk  the  best  av  my  toes  over  you,  ye 
grinnin'  child  av  disruption,'  said  Mulvaney,  sitting 
cross-legged  and  nursing  his  feet;  then  seeing  me, 
'  Oh,  ut's  you,  Sorr !  Be  welkim,  an'  take  that 
maraudin'  scutt's  place.  Jock,  hold  him  down  on 
the  cindhers  for  a  bit.' 

But  Ortheris  escaped  and  went  elsewhere,  as  I 
took  possession  of  the  hollow  he  had  scraped  for 
himself  and  lined  with  his  greatcoat.  Learoyd  on 
the  other  side  of  the  fire  grinned  affably  and  in  a 
minute  fell  fast  asleep. 

'There's  the  height  av  politeness  for  you,'  said 


THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH  SHADD  109 

Mulvaney,  lighting  his  pipe  with  a  flaming  branch. 
4  But  Jock's  eaten  half  a  box  av  your  sardines  at 
wan  gulp,  an'  I  think  the  tin  too.  What's  the  best 
wid  you,  Sorr,  an'  how  did  you  happen  to  be  on  the 
losin'  side  this  day  whin  we  captured  you  ? ' 

4  The  Army  of  the  South  is  winning  all  along  the 
line,'  I  said. 

'  Then  that  line's  the  hangman's  rope,  savin'  your 
presence.  You'll  learn  to-morrow  how  we  rethreated 
to  dhraw  thim  on  before  we  made  thim  trouble,  an' 
that's  what  a  woman  does.  By  the  same  tokin,  we'll 
be  attacked  before  the  dawnin'  an'  ut  would  be  bet- 
ther  not  to  slip  your  boots.  How  do  I  know  that  ? 
By  the  light  av  pure  reason.  Here  are  three  com- 
panies av  us  ever  so  far  inside  av  the  enemy's  flank 
an'  a  crowd  av  roarin',  tarin',  squealin'  cavalry  gone 
on  just  to  turn  out  the  whole  hornet's  nest  av  them. 
Av  course  the  enemy  will  pursue,  by  brigades  like 
as  not,  an'  thin  we'll  have  to  run  for  ut.  Mark  my 
words.  I  am  av  the  opinion  av  Polonius  whin  he 
said,  "  Don't  fight  wid  ivry  scutt  for  the  pure  joy  av 
fightin',  but  if  you  do,  knock  the  nose  av  him  first 
and  frequint."  We  ought  to  ha'  gone  on  an'  helped 
the  Gurkhas.' 

4  But  what  do  you  know  about  Polonius  ? '  I 
demanded.  This  was  a  new  side  of  Mulvaney's 
character. 

4  All  that  Shakespeare  iver  wrote  an'  a  dale  more 


no  SOLDIER  STORIES 

that  the  gallery  shouted,'  said  the  man  of  war,  care- 
fully lacing  his  boots.  '  Did  I  not  tell  you  av  Sil- 
ver's Theatre  in  Dublin,  whin  I  was  younger  than  I 
am  now  an'  a  patron  av  the  drama?  Ould  Silver 
wud  never  pay  actor-man  or  woman  their  just  dues, 
an'  by  consequince  his  comp'nies  was  collapsible  at 
the  last  minut.  Thin  the  bhoys  wud  clamour  to 
take  a  part,  an*  oft  as  not  ould  Silver  made  them 
pay  for  the  fun.  Faith,  I've  seen  Hamlut  played 
wid  a  new  black  eye  an'  the  queen  as  full  as  a 
cornucopia.  I  remimber  wanst  Hogin  that  'listed  in 
the  Black  Tyrone  an'  was  shot  in  South  Africa,  he 
sejuced  ould  Silver  into  givin'  him  Hamlut's  part 
instid  av  me  that  had  a  fine  fancy  for  rhetoric  in 
those  days.  Av  course  I  wint  into  the  gallery  an' 
began  to  fill  the  pit  wid  other  peoples'  hats,  an'  I 
passed  the  time  av  day  to  Hogin  walkin'  through 
Denmark  like  a  hamstrung  mule  wid  a  pall  on  his 
back.  "  Hamlut,"  sez  I,  "  there's  a  hole  in  your 
heel.  Pull  up  your  shtockin's,  Hamlut,"  sez  I. 
"  Hamlut,  Hamlut,  for  the  love  av  decincy  dhrop 
that  skull  an'  pull  up  your  shtockin's."  The  whole 
house  begun  to  tell  him  that.  He  stopped  his  solilo- 
quishms  mid-between.  "  My  shtockin's  may  be 
comin'  down  or  they  may  not,"  sez  he,  screwin'  his 
eye  into  the  gallery,  for  well  he  knew  who  I  was. 
"But  afther  this  performince  is  over  me  an'  the 
Ghost' 11  trample  the  tripes  out  av  you,  Terence,  wid 


THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH   SHADD  III 

your  ass's  bray ! "  An'  that's  how  I  come  to  know 
about  Hamlut.  Eyah!  Those  days,  those  days! 
Did  you  iver  have  onendin'  devilmint  an'  nothin' 
to  pay  for  it  in  your  life,  Sorr?' 

'  Never,  without  having  to  pay,'  I  said. 

'That's  thrue!  'Tis  mane  whin  you  considher 
on  ut ;  but  ut's  the  same  wid  horse  or  f ut.  A  head- 
ache if  you  dhrink,  an'  a  belly-ache  if  you  eat  too 
much,  an'  a  heart-ache  to  kape  all  down.  Faith, 
the  beast  only  gets  the  colic,  an'  he's  the  lucky  man.' 

He  dropped  his  head  and  stared  into  the  fire, 
fingering  his  moustache  the  while.  From  the  far 
side  of  the  bivouac  the  voice  of  Corbet-Nolan,  senior 
subaltern  of  B  company,  uplifted  itself  in  an  ancient 
and  much  appreciated  song  of  sentiment,  the  men 
moaning  melodiously  behind  him. 

The  north  wind  blew  coldly,  she  drooped  from  that  hour, 
My  own  little  Kathleen,  my  sweet  little  Kathleen, 
Kathleen,  my  Kathleen,  Kathleen  O'Moore  ! 

With  forty-five  O's  in  the  last  word :  even  at  that 
distance  you  might  have  cut  the  soft  South  Irish 
accent  with  a  shovel. 

'For  an  we  take  we  must  pay,  but  the  price  is 
cruel  high,'  murmured  Mulvaney  when  the  chorus 
had  ceased. 

'  What's  the  trouble  ? '  I  said  gently,  for  I  knew 
that  he  was  a  man  of  an  inextinguishable  sorrow. 


112  SOLDIER  STORIES 

'  Hear  now,'  said  he.  '  Ye  know  what  I  am  now. 
/  know  what  I  mint  to  be  at  the  beginnin'  av  my 
service.  I've  tould  you  time  an'  again,  an'  what 
I  have  not  Dinah  Shadd  has.  An'  what  am  I? 
Oh,  Mary  Mother  av  Hiven,  an  ould  dhrunken,  un- 
trustable  baste  av  a  privit  that  has  seen  the  reg'ment 
change  out  from  colonel  to  drummer-boy,  not  wanst 
or  twice,  but  scores  av  times !  Ay,  scores !  An' 
me  not  so  near  gettin'  promotion  as  in  the  first! 
An'  me  livin'  on  an'  kapin'  clear  av  clink,  not  by 
my  own  good  conduck,  but  the  kindness  av  some 
orf 'cer-bhoy  young  enpugh  to  be  son  to  me !  Do  I 
not  know  ut  ?  Can  I  not  tell  whin  I'm  passed  over 
at  p'rade,  tho'  I'm  rockin'  full  av  liquor  an'  ready  to 
fall  all  in  wan  piece,  such  as  even  a  suckin'  child 
might  see,  bekaze,  "Oh,  'tis  only  ould  Mulvaney !  " 
An'  whin  I'm  let  off  in  ord'ly-room  through  some 
thrick  of  the  tongue  an'  a  ready  answer  an'  the  ould 
man's  mercy,  is  ut  smilin'  I  feel  whin  I  fall  away 
an'  go  back  to  Dinah  Shadd,  thryin'  to  carry  ut  all 
off  as  a  joke?  Not  I!  Tis  hell  to  me,  dumb  hell 
through  ut  all;  an'  next  time  whin  the  fit  comes  I 
will  be  as  bad  again.  Good  cause  the  reg'ment  has 
to  know  me  for  the  best  soldier  in  ut.  Better  cause 
have  I  to  know  mesilf  for  the  worst  man.  I'm  only 
fit  to  tache  the  new  drafts  what  I'll  niver  learn  my- 
self; an'  I  am  sure,  as  tho'  I  heard  ut,  that  the 
minut  wan  av  these  pink-eyed  recruities  gets  away 


THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH   SHADD  113 

from  my  "  Mind  ye  now,"  an'  "  Listen  to  this,  Jim, 
bhoy,"  — sure  I  am  that  the  sergint  houlds  me  up  to 
him  for  a  warnin*.  So  I  tache,  as  they  say  at  mus- 
ketry-instruction, by  direct  and  ricochet  fire.  Lord 
be  good  to  me,  for  I  have  stud  some  throuble ! ' 

'  Lie  down  and  go  to  sleep,'  said  I,  not  being  able 
to  comfort  or  advise.  '  You're  the  best  man  in  the 
regiment,  and,  next  to  Ortheris,  the  biggest  fool. 
Lie  down  and  wait  till  we're  attacked.  What  force 
will  they  turn  out  ?  Guns,  think  you  ? ' 

'Try  that  wid  your  lorrds  an'  ladies,  twistin'  an' 
turnin'  the  talk,  tho'  you  mint  ut  well.  Ye  cud 
say  nothin'  to  help  me,  an'  yet  ye  niver  knew  what 
cause  I  had  to  be  what  I  am.' 

'  Begin  at  the  beginning  and  go  on  to  the  end,'  I 
said  royally.  '  But  rake  up  the  fire  a  bit  first.' 

I  passed  Ortheris's  bayonet  for  a  poker. 

'  That  shows  how  little  we  know  what  we  do,' 
said  Mulvaney,  putting  it  aside.  '  Fire  takes  all  the 
heart  out  av  the  steel,  an'  the  next  time,  maybe, 
that  our  little  man  is  fighting  for  his  life  his 
bradawl'll  break,  an'  so  you'll  ha'  killed  him,  manin' 
no  more  than  to  kape  yourself  warm.  'Tis  a  re- 
cruity's  thrick  that.  Pass  the  clanin'-rod,  Sorr.' 

I  snuggled  down  abashed ;  and  after  an  interval 
tie  voice  of  Mulvaney  began. 

'  Did  I  iver  tell  you  how  Dinah  Shadd  came   to 
be  wife  av  mine  ? ' 
i 


114  SOLDIER  STORIES 

I  dissembled  a  burning  anxiety  that  I  had  felt 
for  some  months  —  ever  since  Dinah  Shadd,  the 
strong,  the  patient,  and  the  infinitely  tender,  had 
of  her  own  good  love  and  free  will  washed  a  shirt 
for  me,  moving  in  a  barren  land  where  washing 
was  not. 

'  I  can't  remember/  I  said  casually.  '  Was  it 
before  or  after  you  made  love  to  Annie  Bragin, 
and  got  no  satisfaction  ? ' 

The  story  of  Annie  Bragin  is  written  in  another 
place.  It  is  one  of  the  many  less  respectable  epi- 
sodes in  Mulvaney's  chequered  career. 

'Before — before — long  before,  was  that  business 
av  Annie  Bragin  an'  the  corp'ril's  ghost.  Niver 
woman  was  the  worse  for  me  whin  I  had  married 
Dinah.  There's  a  time  for  all  things,  an'  I  know 
how  to  kape  all  things  in  place  —  barrin'  the 
dhrink,  that  kapes  me  in  my  place  wid  no  hope 
av  comin'  to  be  aught  else.' 

'  Begin  at  the  beginning,'  I  insisted.  '  Mrs. 
Mulvaney  told  me  that  you  married  her  when  you 
were  quartered  in  Krab  Bokhar  barracks.' 

'An'  the  same  is  a  cess-pit,'  said  Mulvaney 
piously.  '  She  spoke  thrue,  did  Dinah.  'Twas 
this  way.  Talkin'  av  that,  have  ye  iver  fallen  in 
love,  Sorr?' 

I  preserved  the  silence  of  the  damned.  Mul- 
vaney continued:  — 


THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH   SHADD  115 

'Thin  I  will  assume  that  ye  have  not.  /  did. 
In  the  days  av  my  youth,  as  I  have  more  than 
wanst  tould  you,  I  was  a  man  that  filled  the  eye 
an'  delighted  the  sowl  av  women.  Niver  man  was 
hated  as  I  have  bin.  Niver  man  was  loved  as  I 
—  no,  not  within  half  a  day's  march  av  ut!  For 
the  first  five  years  av  my  service,  whin  I  was 
what  I  wud  give  my  sowl  to  be  now,  I  tuk  what- 
ever was  within  my  reach  an'  digested  ut  —  an' 
that's  more  than  most  men  can  say.  Dhrink  I 
tuk,  an'  ut  did  me  no  harm.  By  the  Hollow  av 
Hiven,  I  cud  play  wid  four  women  at  wanst,  an' 
kape  them  from  findin'  out  anythin'  about  the 
other  three,  /n'  smile  like  a  full-blown  marigold 
through  ut  all.  Dick  Coulhan,  av  the  battery 
we'll  have  down  on  us  to-night,  could  drive  his 
team  no  better  than  I  mine,  an'  I  hild  the  worser 
cattle!  An'  so  I  lived,  an'  so  I  was  happy  till 
afther  that  business  wid  Annie  Bragin  —  she  that 
turned  me  off  as  cool  as  a  meat-safe,  an*  taught 
me  where  I  stud  in  the  mind  aV  an  honest 
woman.  'Twas  no  sweet  dose  to  swallow. 

'Afther  that  I  sickened  awhile  an'  tuk  thought 
to  my  reg'mental  work;  conceiting  mesilf  I  wud 
study  an'  be  a  sargint,  an'  a  major-gineral  twinty 
minutes  afther  that.  But  on  top  av  my  ambitious- 
ness  there  was  an  empty  place  in  my  sowl,  an' 
me  own  opinion  av  mesilf  cud  not  fill  ut.  Sez  I 


Il6  SOLDIER  STORIES 

to  mesilf,  "Terence,  you're  a  great  man  an'  the 
best  set-up  in  the  reg'mint.  Go  on  an'  get  promo^ 
tion."  Sez  mesilf  to  me,  "What  for?"  Sez  I  to 
mesilf,  "  For  the  glory  av  ut ! "  Sez  mesilf  to  me, 
"Will  that  fill  these  two  strong  arrums  av  yours, 
Terence  ? "  "  Go  to  the  devil,"  sez  I  to  mesilf. 
"Go  to  the  married  lines,"  sez  mesilf  to  me. 
"  'Tis  the  same  thing,"  sez  I  to  mesilf.  "  Av 
you're  the  same  man,  ut  is,"  said  mesilf  to  me; 
an'  wid  that  I  considhered  on  ut  a  long  while. 
Did  you  iver  feel  that  way,  Sorr?' 

I  snored  gently,  knowing  that  if  Mulvaney  were  un- 
interrupted he  would  go  on.  The  clamour  from  the 
bivouac  fires  beat  up  to  the  stars,  as  the  rival  singers 
of  the  companies  were  pitted  against  each  other. 

'  So  I  felt  that  way  an'  a  bad  time  ut  was. 
Wanst,  bein'  a  fool,  I  wint  into  the  married  lines 
more  for  the  sake  av  spakin'  to  our  ould  colour- 
sergint  Shadd  than  for  any  thruck  wid  women-folk. 
I  was  a  corp'ril  then  —  rejuced  afterwards,  but  a 
corp'ril  then.  I've  got  a  photograft  av  mesilf  to 
prove  ut.  "  You'll  take  a  cup  av  tay  wid  us  ? "  sez 
Shadd.  "I  will  that,"  I  sez,  "tho'  tay  is  not  my 
divarsion." 

'"'Twud  be  better  for  you  if  ut  were,"  sez  ould 
Mother  Shadd,  an'  she  had  ought  to  know,  for 
Shadd,  in  the  ind  av  his  service,  dhrank  bung-full 
each  night. 


'Thin  whin  the  kettle  was  to  be  filled,  Dinah  came  in  —  my  Dinah.'  —  P.  117. 


THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH   SHADD  117 

'  Wid  that  I  tuk  off  my  gloves  —  there  was  pipe- 
:lay  in  thim,  so  that  they  stud  alone  —  an'  pulled 
ap  my  chair,  lookin'  round  at  the  china  ornaments, 
an'  bits  av  things  in  the  Shadds'  quarters.  They 
were  things  that  belonged  to  a  man,  an'  no  camp- 
kit,  here  to-day  and  dishipated  next.  "  You're 
comfortable  in  this  place,  Sergint,"  sez  I.  "  Tis 
the  wife  that  did  ut,  boy,"  sez  he,  pointin'  the 
stem  av  his  pipe  to  ould  Mother  Shadd,  an'  she 
smacked  the  top  av  his  bald  head  apon  the  com- 
pliment. "That  manes  you  want  money,"  sez  she. 

'An'  thin  —  an'  thin  whin  the  kettle  was  to  be 
filled,  Dinah  came  in  —  my  Dinah  —  her  sleeves 
rowled  up  to  the  elbow  an'  her  hair  in  a  winkin' 
glory  over  her  forehead,  the  big  blue  eyes  beneath 
twinklin'  like  stars  on  a  frosty  night,  an'  the  tread 
av  her  two  feet  lighter  than  waste-paper  from  the 
Colonel's  basket  in  ord'ly-room  whin  ut's  emptied. 
Bein'  but  a  shlip  av  a  girl  she  went  pink  at  seein' 
me,  an'  I  twisted  me  moustache  an'  looked  at  a 
picture  forninst  the  wall.  Niver  show  a  woman 
that  ye  care  the  snap  av  a  finger  for  her,  an'  begad 
she'll  come  bleatin'  to  your  boot-heels ! ' 

'  I  suppose  that's  why  you  followed  Annie  Bragin 
till  everybody  in  the  married  quarters  laughed  at 
you,'  said  I,  remembering  that  unhallowed  wooing 
and  casting  off  the  disguise  of  drowsiness. 

'  I'm  layin'  down  the  gin'ral  theory  av  the  attack,' 


Il8  SOLDIER  STORIES 

said  Mulvaney,  driving  his  boot  into  the  dying  fire. 
'If  you  read  the  Soldier's  Pocket-book,  which  niver 
any  soldier  reads,  you'll  see  that  there  are  excep- 
tions. Whin  Dinah  was  out  av  the  door  (an'  'twas 
as  tho'  the  sunlight  had  shut  too)  —  "Mother  av 
Hiven,  Sergint,"  sez  I,  "but  is  that  your  daughter  ?  " 
— "  I've  believed  that  way  these  eighteen  years," 
sez  ould  Shadd,  his  eyes  twinklin' ;  "  but  Mrs.  Shadd 
has  her  own  opinion,  like  iv'ry  woman."  — "  Tis 
wid  yours  this  time,  for  a  mericle,"  sez  Mother 
Shadd.  "  Thin  why  in  the  name  av  fortune  did 
I  niver  see  her  before  ? "  sez  I.  "  Bekaze  you've 
been  thrapesin'  round  wid  the  married  women  these 
three  years  past.  She  was  a  bit  av  a  child  till  last 
year,  an'  she  shot  up  wid  the  spring,"  sez  ould 
Mother  Shadd.  "I'll  thrapese  no  more,"  sez  I. 
"  D'you  mane  that  ? "  sez  ould  Mother  Shadd,  lookin' 
at  me  side-ways  like  a  hen  looks  at  a  hawk  whin 
the  chickens  are  runnin'  free.  "Try  me,  an'  tell," 
sez  I.  Wid  that  I  pulled  on  my  gloves,  dhrank  off 
the  tay,  an'  went  out  av  the  house  as  stiff  as  at 
gin'ral  p'rade,  for  well  I  knew  that  Dinah  Shadd's 
eyes  were  in  the  small  av  my  back  out  av  the 
scullery  window.  Faith !  that  was  the  only  time 
I  mourned  I  was  not  a  cav'1'ry-man  for  the  pride 
av  the  spurs  to  jingle. 

'  I  wint  out  to  think,  an'  I  did  a  powerful  lot  av 
thinkin',  but  ut  all  came   round  to  that   shlip  av  a 


THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH  SHADD  119 

girl  in  the  dotted  blue  dhress,  wid  the  blue  eyes 
an'  the  sparkil  in  them.  Thin  I  kept  off  canteen, 
an'  I  kept  to  the  married  quarthers,  or  near  by, 
on  the  chanst  av  meetin'  Dinah.  Did  I  meet  her  ? 
Oh,  my  time  past,  did  I  not;  wid  a  lump  in  my 
throat  as  big  as  my  valise  an'  my  heart  goin'  like 
a  farrier's  forge  on  a  Saturday  morning?  'Twas 
"Good  day  to  ye,  Miss  Dinah,"  an'  "Good  day 
t'you,  Corp'ril,"  for  a  week  or  two,  and  divil  a  bit 
further  could  I  get  bekaze  av  the  respect  I  had 
to  that  girl  that  I  cud  ha'  broken  betune  finger 
an'  thumb.' 

Here  I  giggled  as  I  recalled  the  gigantic  figure 
of  Dinah  Shadd  when  she  handed  me  my  shirt. 

'  Ye  may  laugh,'  grunted  Mulvaney.  '  But  I'm 
speakin'  the  trut',  an'  'tis  you  that  are  in  fault. 
Dinah  was  a  girl  that  wud  ha'  taken  the  imperi- 
ousness  out  av  the  Duchess  av  Clonmel  in  those 
days.  Flower  hand,  foot  av  shod  air,  an'  the  eyes 
av  the  livin'  mornin'  she  had  that  is  my  wife  to- 
day—  ould  Dinah,  and  niver  aught  else  than  Dinah 
Shadd  to  me. 

"Twas  after  three  weeks  standin'  off  an*  on,  an' 
niver  makin'  headway  excipt  through  the  eyes, 
that  a  little  drummer-boy  grinned  in  me  face  whin 
I  had  admonished  him  wid  the  buckle  av  my  belt 
for  riotin'  all  over  the  place.  "An*  I'm  not  the 
wan  that  doesn't  kape  to  barricks,"  sez  he. 


120  SOLDIER  STORIES 

I  tuk  him  by  the  scruff  av  his  neck,  —  my  heart 
was  hung  on  a  hair-thrigger  those  days,  you  will 
onderstand,  —  an'  "Out  wid  ut,"  sez  I,  "or  I'll  lave 
no  bone  av  you  unbreakable."  —  "  Speak  to  Demp- 
sey,"  sez  he  howlin'.  "  Dempsey  which  ? "  sez  I, 
"ye  unwashed  limb  av  Satan."  —  "Av  the  Bob- 
tailed  Dhragoons,"  sez  he.  "  He's  seen  her  home 
from  her  aunt's  house  in  the  civil  lines  four  times 
this  fortnight."  —  "  Child  !  "  sez  I,  dhroppin'  him, 
"you're  tongue's  stronger  than  your  body.  Go  to 
your  quarters.  I'm  sorry  I  dhressed  you  down." 

'At  that  I  went  four  ways  to  wanst  huntin' 
Dempsey.  I  was  mad  to  think  that  wid  all  my 
airs  among  women  I  shud  ha'  been  chated  by  a 
basin-faced  fool  av  a  cav'1'ry-man  not  fit  to  trust 
on  a  trunk.  Presintly  I  found  him  hi  our  lines 
—  the  Bobtails  was  quartered  next  us  —  an'  a  tal- 
lowy, topheavy  son  av  a  she-mule  he  was  wid  his 
big  brass  spurs  an'  his  plastrons  on  his  epigastrons 
an'  all.  But  he  niver  flinched  a  hair. 

'"A  word  wid  you,  Dempsey,"  sez  I.  "You've 
walked  wid  Dinah  Shadd  four  times  this  fortnight 
gone." 

'"What's  that  to  you?"  sez  he.  "I'll  walk 
forty  times  more,  an'  forty  on  top  av  that,  ye 
shovel-futted  clod-breakin'  infantry  lance-corp'ril." 

'  Before  I  cud  gyard  he  had  his  gloved  fist  home 
on  my  cheek  an'  down  I  went  full-sprawl.  "Will 


'"  My  collar-bone's  bruk,"  sez  he.'  —  \>.  121. 


THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH   SHADD  1 21 

that  content  you  ? "  sez  he,  blowin'  on  his  knuckles 
for  all  the  world  like  a  Scots  Greys  orf 'cer.  "  Con- 
tent ! "  sez  I.  "  For  your  own  sake,  man,  take  off 
your  spurs,  peel  your  jackut,  an'  onglove.  Tis 
the  beginnin'  av  the  overture ;  stand  up ! " 

'  He  stud  all  he  know,  but  he  niver  peeled  his 
jacket,  an'  his  shoulders  had  no  fair  play.  I  was 
fightin'  for  Dinah  Shadd  an'  that  cut  on  my  cheek. 
What  hope  had  he  forninst  me  ?  "  Stand  up,"  sez 
I,  time  an'  again  whin  he  was  beginnin'  to  quarter 
the  ground  an'  gyard  high  an'  go  large.  "  This  isn't 
ridin'-school,"  I  sez.  "  O  man,  stand  up  an'  let  me 
get  in  at  ye."  But  whin  I  saw  he  wud  be  runnin' 
about,  I  grup  his  shtock  in  my  left  an'  his  waist-belt 
in  my  right  an*  swung  him  clear  to  my  right  front, 
head  undher,  he  hammerin'  my  nose  till  the  wind 
was  knocked  out  av  him  on  the  bare  ground. 
"  Stand  up,"  sez  I,  "  or  I'll  kick  your  head  into  your 
chest ! "  and  I  wud  ha'  done  ut  too,  so  ragin'  mad  I 
was. 

' "  My  collar-bone's  bruk,"  sez  he.  "  Help  me 
back  to  lines.  I'll  walk  wid  her  no  more."  So  I 
helped  him  back.' 

'  And  was  his  collar-bone  broken  ? '  I  asked,  for 
I  fancied  that  only  Learoyd  could  neatly  accomplish 
that  terrible  throw. 

'  He  pitched  on  his  left  shoulder-point.  Ut  was. 
Next  day  the  news  was  in  both  barricks,  an'  whin  I 


121  SOLDIER  STORIES 

met  Dinah  Shadd  wid  a  cheek  on  me  like  all  the 
reg'mintal  tailor's  samples,  there  was  no  "  Good 
mornin',  Corp'ril,"  or  aught  else.  "  An'  what  have  I 
done,  Miss  Shadd,"  sez  I,  very  bould,  plantin'  mesilf 
forninst  her,  "that  ye  should  not  pass  the  time  of 
day?" 

'"Ye've  half-killed  rough-rider  Dempsey,"  sez  she, 
her  dear  blue  eyes  fillin'  up. 

' "  Maybe,"  sez  I.  "  Was  he  a  friend  av  yours 
that  saw  ye  home  four  times  in  the  fortnight  ? " 

' "  Yes,"  sez  she,  but  her  mouth  was  down  at  the 
corners.  "  An'  —  an'  what's  that  to  you  ? "  she  sez. 

'  "  Ask  Dempsey,"  sez  I,  purtendin'  to  go  away. 

' "  Did  you  fight  for  me  then,  ye  silly  man  ? "  she 
sez,  tho'  she  knew  ut  all  along. 

1 "  Who  else  ? "  sez  I,  an'  I  tuk  wan  pace  to  the 
front. 

'"I  wasn't  worth  ut,"  sez  she,  fingerin'  in  her  apron. 

1 "  That's  for  me  to  say,"  sez  I.     "  Shall  I  say  ut  ? " 

' "  Yes,"  sez  she  in  a  saint's  whisper,  an'  at  that  I 
explained  mesilf;  and  she  tould  me  what  ivry  man 
that  is  a  man,  an'  many  that  is  a  woman,  hears 
wanst  in  his  life. 

' "  But  what  made  ye  cry  at  startin',  Dinah, 
darlin'  ?  "  sez  I. 

'"Your  —  your  bloody  cheek,"  sez  she,  duckin* 
her  little  head  down  on  my  sash  (I  was  on  duty  for 
the  day)  an'  whimperin'  like  a  sorrowful  angil. 


THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH   SHADD  123 

'  Now  a  man  cud  take  that  two  ways.  I  tuk  ut 
as  pleased  me  best  an'  my  first  kiss  wid  ut.  Mother 
av  Innocence  !  but  I  kissed  her  on  the  tip  av  the 
nose  an'  undher  the  eye ;  an'  a  girl  that  lets  a  kiss 
come  tumbleways  like  that  has  never  been  kissed 
before.  Take  note  av  that,  Sorr.  Thin  we  wint 
hand  in  hand  to  ould  Mother  Shadd  like  two  little 
childher,  an'  she  said  'twas  no  bad  thing,  an'  ould 
Shadd  nodded  behind  his  pipe,  an'  Dinah  ran  away 
to  her  own  room.  That  day  I  throd  on  rollin' 
clouds.  All  earth  was  too  small  to  hould  me.  Be- 
gad, I  cud  ha"  hiked  the  sun  out  av  the  sky  for  a 
live  coal  to  my  pipe,  so  magnificent  I  was.  But  I 
tuk  recruities  at  squad-drill  instid,  an'  began  wid 
general  battalion  advance  whin  I  shud  ha'  been 
balance-steppin'  them.  Eyah !  that  day !  that  day ! ' 

A  very  long  pause.     '  Well  ? '    said  I. 

'  'Twas  all  wrong,'  said  Mulvaney,  with  an  enor- 
mous sigh.  'An'  I  know  that  ev'ry  bit  av  ut  was 
my  own  foolishness.  That  night  I  tuk  maybe  the 
half  av  three  pints  —  not  enough  to  turn  the  hair 
of  a  man  in  his  natural  senses.  But  I  was  more 
than  half  drunk  wid  pure  joy,  an'  that  canteen 
beer  was  so  much  whisky  to  me.  I  can't  tell 
how  it  came  about,  but  bekaze  I  had  no  thought 
for  any  wan  except  Dinah,  bekaze  I  hadn't  slipped 
her  little  white  arms  from  my  neck  five  minuts, 
bekaze  the  breath  of  her  kiss  was  not  gone  from 


124  SOLDIER  STORIES 

my  mouth,  I  must  go  through  the  married  lines 
on  my  way  to  quarters  an'  I  must  stay  talkin'  to  a 
red-headed  Mullingar  heifer  av  a  girl,  Judy  Sheehy, 
that  was  daughter  to  Mother  Sheehy,  the  wife  of 
Nick  Sheehy,  the  canteen-sergint  —  the  Black  Curse 
av  Shielygh  be  on  the  whole  brood  that  are  above 
groun'  this  day ! 

' "  An'  what  are  ye  houldin'  your  head  that  high 
for,  Corp'ril  ?  "  sez  Judy.  "  Come  in  an'  thry  a  cup 
av  tay,"  she  sez,  standin'  in  the  doorway.  Bein'  an 
ontrustable  fool,  an'  thinkin'  av  anything  but  tay, 
I  wint. 

' "  Mother's  at  canteen,"  sez  Judy,  smoothin*  the 
hair  av  hers  that  was  like  red  snakes,  an'  lookin' 
at  me  corner-ways  out  av  her  green  cats'  eyes. 
"Ye  will  not  mind,  Corp'ril?" 

'  "  I  can  endure,"  sez  I ;  ould  Mother  Sheehy  bein' 
no  divarsion  av  mine,  nor  her  daughter  too.  Judy 
fetched  the  tea  things  an'  put  thim  on  the  table, 
leanin'  over  me  very  close  to  get  thim  square.  I 
dhrew  back,  thinkin'  av  Dinah. 

' "  Is  ut  afraid  you  are  av  a  girl  alone  ? "  sez 
Judy. 

'"No,"  sez  I.     "Why  should  I  be?" 

' "  That  rests  wid  the  girl,"  sez  Judy,  dhrawin' 
her  chair  next  to  mine. 

"'Thin  there  let  ut  rest,"  sez  I;  an'  thinkin'  I'd 
been  a  trifle  onpolite,  I  sez,  "The  tay's  not  quite 


THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH   SHADD  125 

sweet  enough  for  my  taste.  Put  your  little  finger 
in  the  cup,  Judy.  'Twill  make  ut  necthar." 

"'What's  necthar?"    sez  she. 

' "  Somethin'  very  sweet,"  sez  I  ;  an'  for  the  sin- 
ful life  av  me  I  cud  not  help  lookin'  at  her  out  av 
the  corner  av  my  eye,  as  I  was  used  to  look  at  a 
woman. 

' "  Go  on  wid  ye,  Cor'pril,"  sez  she.  "  You're  a 
flirrt." 

'  "  On  me  sowl  I'm  not"  sez  I. 

' "  Then  you're  a  cruel  handsome  man,  an'  that's 
worse,"  sez  she,  heavin'  big  sighs  an'  lookin'  cross- 
ways. 

' "  You  know  your  own  mind,"  sez  I. 

1 "  'Twud  be  better  for  me  if  I  did  not,"  she  sez. 

' "  There's  a  dale  to  be  said  on  both  sides  av  that," 
sez  I,  unthinkin'. 

' "  Say  your  own  part  av  ut,  then,  Terence,  dar- 
lin',"  sez  she;  "for  begad  I'm  thinkin'  I've  said  too 
much  or  too  little  for  an  honest  girl,"  an'  wid  that 
she  put  her  arms  round  my  neck  an'  kissed  me. 

'"There's  no  more  to  be  said  afther  that,"  sez  I, 
kissin'  her  back  again  —  oh  the  mane  scutt  that  I 
was,  my  head  ringin'  wid  Dinah  Shadd !  How  does 
ut  come  about,  Sorr,  that  when  a  man  has  put  the 
comether  on  wan  woman,  he's  sure  bound  to  put  it 
on  another?  'Tis  the  same  thing  at  musketry. 
Wan  day  ivry  shot  goes  wide  or  into  the  bank,  an' 


126  SOLDIER  STORIES 

the  next,  lay  high  lay  low,  sight  or  snap,  ye  can't 
get  off  the  bull's-eye  for  ten  shots  runninV 

'  That  only  happens  to  a  man  who  has  had  a  good 
deal  of  experience.  He  does  it  without  thinking,'  I 
replied. 

'Thankin'  you  for  the  complimint,  Sorr,  ut  may 
be  so.  But  I'm  doubtful  whether  you  mint  ut  for  a 
complimint.  Hear  now;  I  sat  there  wid  Judy  on 
my  knee  tellin'  me  all  manner  av  nonsinse  an'  only 
sayin'  "yes"  an'  "no,"  when  I'd  much  better  ha* 
kept  tongue  betune  teeth.  An'  that  was  not  an 
hour  afther  I  had  left  Dinah !  What  I  was  thinkin' 
av  I  cannot  say.  Presintly,  quiet  as  a  cat,  ould 
Mother  Sheehy  came  in  velvet-dhrunk.  She  had 
her  daughter's  red  hair,  but  'twas  bald  in  patches, 
an'  I  could  see  in  her  wicked  ould  face,  clear  as 
lightnin',  what  Judy  wud  be  twenty  years  to  come. 
I  was  for  jumpin'  up,  but  Judy  niver  moved. 

' "  Terence  has  promust,  mother,"  sez  she,  an'  the 
could  sweat  bruk  out  all  over  me.  Ould  Mother 
Sheehy  sat  down  of  a  heap  an'  began  playin'  wid  the 
cups.  "Thin  you're  a  well-matched  pair,"  she  sez 
very  thick.  "  For  he's  the  biggest  rogue  that  iver 
spoiled  the  queen's  shoe-leather,  an' " 

'"I'm  off,  Judy,"  sez  I.  "Ye  should  not  talk 
nonsinse  to  your  mother.  Get  her  to  bed,  girl." 

' "  Nonsinse !  "  sez  the  ould  woman,  prickin'  up 
her  ears  like  a  cat  an'  grippin'  the  table-edge. 


THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH   SHADD  127 

"'Twill  be  the  most  nonsinsical  nonsinse  for  you, 
ye  grinnin'  badger,  if  nonsinse  'tis.  Git  clear,  you. 
I'm  goin'  to  bed." 

'  I  ran  out  into  the  dhark,  my  head  in  a  stew  an* 
my  heart  sick,  but  I  had  sinse  enough  to  see  that  I'd 
brought  ut  all  on  mysilf .  "  It's  this  to  pass  the 
time  av  day  to  a  panjandhrum  av  hell-cats,"  sez  I. 
"What  I've  said,  an'  what  I've  not  said  do  not 
matther.  Judy  an'  her  dam  will  hould  me  for  a 
promust  man,  an'  Dinah  will  give  me  the  go,  an"  I 
desarve  ut.  I  will  go  an'  get  dhrunk,"  sez  I,  "an' 
forget  about  ut,  for  'tis  plain  I'm  not  a  marrin'  man." 

'  On  my  way  to  canteen  I  ran  against  Lascelles, 
colour-sergeant  that  was  av  E  comp'ny,  a  hard,  hard 
man,  wid  a  torment  av  a  wife.  "You've  the  head 
av  a  drowned  man  on  your  shoulders,"  sez  he ;  "  an' 
you're  goin'  where  you'll  get  a  worse  wan.  Come 
back,"  sez  he.  "  Let  me  go,"  sez  I.  "  I've  thrown 
my  luck  over  the  wall  wid  my  own  hand ! "  —  "  Then 
that's  not  the  way  to  get  ut  back  again,"  sez  he. 
"  Have  out  wid  your  throuble,  you  fool-bhoy."  An' 
I  tould  him  how  the  matther  was. 

'  He  sucked  in  his  lower  lip.  "  You've  been 
thrapped,"  sez  he.  "  Ju  Sheehy  wud  be  the  betther 
for  a  man's  name  to  hers  as  soon  as  can.  An'  ye 
thought  ye'd  put  the  comether  on  her,  —  that's  the 
natural  vanity  of  the  baste.  Terence,  you're  a  big 
born  fool,  but  you're  not  bad  enough  to  marry  into 


128  SOLDIER  STORIES 

that  comp'ny.  If  you  said  any  thin',  an'  for  all  your 
protestations  I'm  sure  ye  did  —  or  did  not,  which  is 
worse,  —  eat  ut  all  —  lie  like  the  father  of  all  lies, 
but  come  out  av  ut  free  av  Judy.  Do  I  not  know 
what  ut  is  to  marry  a  woman  that  was  the  very  spit 
an'  image  av  Judy  whin  she  was  young  ?  I'm  get- 
tin'  old  an'  I've  larnt  patience,  but  you,  Terence, 
you'd  raise  hand  on  Judy  an'  kill  her  in  a  year. 
Never  mind  if  Dinah  gives  you  the  go,  you've 
desarved  ut;  never  mind  if  the  whole  reg'mint 
laughs  you  all  day.  Get  shut  av  Judy  an'  her 
mother.  They  can't  dhrag  you  to  church,  but  if 
they  do,  they'll  dhrag  you  to  hell.  Go  back  to  your 
quarters  and  lie  down,"  sez  he.  Thin  over  his 
shoulder,  "You  must  ha'  done  with  thim." 

'  Next  day  I  wint  to  see  Dinah,  but  there  was  no 
tucker  in  me  as  I  walked.  I  knew  the  throuble  wud 
come  soon  enough  widout  any  handlin'  av  mine,  an' 
I  dreaded  ut  sore. 

'  I  heard  Judy  callin'  me,  but  I  hild  straight  on  to 
the  Shadds'  quarthers,  an'  Dinah  wud  ha'  kissed  me 
but  I  put  her  back. 

'"Whin  all's  said,  darlin',"  sez  I,  "you  can  give 
ut  me  if  ye  will,  tho'  I  misdoubt  'twill  be  so  easy  t& 
come  by  then." 

'I  had  scarce  begun  to  put  the  explanation  into 
shape  before  Judy  an'  her  mother  came  to  the  door. 
I  think  there  was  a  veranda,  but  I'm  forgettin'. 


THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH  SHADD  129 

' "  Will  ye  not  step  in  ? "  sez  Dinah,  pretty  and 
polite,  though  the  Shadds  had  no  dealin's  with  the 
Sheehys.  Old  Mother  Shadd  looked  up  quick,  an* 
she  was  the  fust  to  see  the  throuble ;  for  Dinah  was 
her  daughter. 

' "  I'm  pressed  for  time  to-day,"  sez  Judy  as  bould 
as  brass ;  "  an'  I've  only  come  for  Terence,  —  my 
promust  man.  'Tis  strange  to  find  him  here  the  day 
afther  the  day." 

1  Dinah  looked  at  me  as  though  I  had  hit  her,  an' 
I  answered  straight. 

' "  There  was  some  nonsinse  last  night  at  the 
Sheehys'  quarthers,  an'  Judy's  carryin'  on  the  joke, 
darlin',"  sez  I. 

'"At  the  Sheehys'  quarthers?"  sez  Dinah  very 
slow,  an'  Judy  cut  in  wid :  "  He  was  there  from  nine 
till  ten,  Dinah  Shadd,  an*  the  betther  half  av  that 
time  I  was  sittin'  on  his  knee,  Dinah  Shadd.  Ye 
may  look  an'  ye  may  look  an'  ye  may  look  me  up 
an'  down,  but  ye  won't  look  away  that  Terence  is 
my  promust  man.  Terence,  darlin',  'tis  time  for  us 
to  be  comin'  home." 

'  Dinah  Shadd  niver  said  word  to  Judy.  "  Ye  left 
me  at  half-past  eight,"  she  sez  to  me,  "an'  I  niver 
thought  that  ye'd  leave  me  for  Judy,  —  promises  or 
no  promises.  Go  back  wid  her,  you  that  have  to  be 
fetched  by  a  girl !  I'm  done  with  you,"  sez  she,  and 
she  ran  into  her  own  room,  her  mother  followin'. 

K 


130  SOLDIER  STORIES 

So  I  was  alone  wid  those  two  women  and  at  liberty 
to  spake  my  sentiments. 

'"Judy  Sheehy,"  sez  I,  "if  you  made  a  fool  av 
me  betune  the  lights  you  shall  not  do  ut  in  the  day. 
I  niver  promised  you  words  or  lines." 

' "  You  lie,"  sez  ould  Mother  Sheehy,  "  an'  may  ut 
choke  you  where  you  stand !  "  She  was  far  gone  in 
dhrink. 

"'An'  tho'  ut  choked  me  where  I  stud  I'd  not 
change,"  sez  I.  "Go  home,  Judy.  I  take  shame 
for  a  decent  girl  like  you  dhraggin'  your  mother  out 
bareheaded  on  this  errand.  Hear  now,  and  have  ut 
for  an  answer.  I  gave  my  word  to  Dinah  Shadd 
yesterday,  an',  more  blame  to  me,  I  was  wid  you  last 
night  talkin'  nonsinse  but  nothin'  more.  You've 
chosen  to  thry  to  hould  me  on  ut.  I  will  not  be 
held  thereby  for  any  thin'  in  the  world.  Is  that 
enough  ? " 

'Judy  wint  pink  all  over.  "An'  I  wish  you  joy 
av  the  perjury,"  sez  she,  duckin'  a  curtsey.  "You've 
lost  a  woman  that  would  ha'  wore  her  hand  to  the 
bone  for  your  pleasure ;  an'  'deed,  Terence,  ye  were 
not  thrapped.  .  .  ."  Lascelles  must  ha'  spoken  plain 
to  her.  "I  am  such  as  Dinah  is — 'deed  I  am  !  Ye've 
lost  a  fool  av  a  girl  that'll  niver  look  at  you  again, 
and  ye've  lost  what  ye  niver  had  —  your  common 
honesty.  If  you  manage  your  men  as  you  manage 
your  love  makin',  small  wondher  they  call  you  the 


THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH   SHADD  131 

worst  corp'ril  in  the  comp'ny.  Come  away,  mother," 
sez  she. 

'But  divil  a  fut  would  the  ould  woman  budge! 
"D'you  hould  by  that?"  sez  she,  peerin'  up  under 
her  thick  gray  eyebrows. 

'"Ay,  an'  wud,"  sez  I,  "tho'  Dinah  gave  me  the 
go  twinty  times.  I'll  have  no  thruck  with  you  or 
yours,"  sez  I.  "Take  your  child  away,  ye  shameless 
woman." 

'  "  An'  am  I  shameless  ? "  sez  she,  bringin'  her 
hands  up  above  her  head.  "  Thin  what  are  you,  ye 
lyin',  schamin',  weak-kneed,  dhirty-souled  son  av  a 
sutler?  Am  /  shameless?  Who  put  the  open 
shame  on  me  an'  my  child  that  we  shud  go  beggin' 
through  the  lines  in  the  broad  daylight  for  the 
broken  word  of  a  man  ?  Double  portion  of  my 
shame  be  on  you,  Terence  Mulvaney,  that  think 
yourself  so  strong !  By  Mary  and  the  saints,  by 
blood  and  water  an'  by  ivry  sorrow  that  came  into 
the  world  since  the  beginnin',  the  black  blight  fall 
on  you  and  yours,  so  that  you  may  niver  be  free 
from  pain  for  another  when  ut's  not  your  own ! 
May  your  heart  bleed  in  your  breast  drop  by  drop 
wid  all  your  friends  laughin'  at  the  bleedin' !  Strong 
you  think  yourself  ?  May  your  strength  be  a  curse 
to  you  to  dhrive  you  into  the  divil's  hands  against 
your  own  will !  Clear-eyed  you  are  ?  May  your 
eyes  see  clear  evry  step  av  the  dark  path  you  take 


132  SOLDIER  STORIES 

till  the  hot  cindhers  av  hell  put  thim  out !  May  the 
ragin'  dry  thirst  in  my  own  ould  bones  go  to  you 
that  you  shall  niver  pass  bottle  full  nor  glass  empty. 
God  preserve  the  light  av  your  onderstandin'  to  you, 
my  jewel  av  a  bhoy,  that  ye  may  niver  forget  what 
you  mint  to  be  an'  do,  whin  you're  wallowin'  in  the 
muck!  May  ye  see  the  betther  and  follow  the 
worse  as  long  as  there's  breath  in  your  body;  an' 
may  ye  die  quick  in  a  strange  land,  watchin'  your 
death  before  ut  takes  you,  an'  enable  to  stir  hand  or 
foot!" 

'  I  heard  a  scufflin'  in  the  room  behind,  and  thin 
Dinah  Shadd's  hand  dhropped  into  mine  like  a  rose- 
leaf  into  a  muddy  road. 

' "  The  half  av  that  I'll  take,"  sez  she,  "  an'  more 
too  if  I  can.  Go  home,  ye  silly  talkin'  woman,  —  go 
home  an'  confess." 

'  "  Come  away !  Come  away !  "  sez  Judy,  pullin' 
her  mother  by  the  shawl.  "  'Twas  none  av  Terence's 
fault.  For  the  love  av  Mary  stop  the  talkin' !  " 

' "  An'  you  ! "  said  ould  Mother  Sheehy,  spinnin* 
round  forninst  Dinah.  "Will  ye  take  the  half  av 
that  man's  load  ?  Stand  off  from  him,  Dinah  Shadd, 
before  he  takes  you  down  too — you  that  look  to  be  a 
quarther-master-sergeant's  wife  in  five  years.  You 
look  too  high,  child.  You  shall  wash  for  the 
quarther-master-sergeant,  whin  he  plases  to  give  you 
the  job  out  av  charity ;  but  a  privit's  wife  you  shall 


'"The  half  av  that  I'll  take,"  sez  she.'  —  P.  132. 


THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH  SHADD  133 

be  to  the  end,  an'  evry  sorrow  of  a  privit's  wife  you 
shall  know  and  niver  a  joy  but  wan,  that  shall  go 
from  you  like  the  running  tide  from  a  rock.  The 
pain  av  bearin'  you  shall  know  but  niver  the  pleasure 
av  giving  the  breast ;  an'  you  shall  put  away  a  man- 
child  into  the  common  ground  wid  niver  a  priest  to 
say  a  prayer  over  him,  an'  on  that  man-child  ye 
shall  think  ivry  day  av  your  life.  Think  long, 
Dinah  Shadd,  for  you'll  niver  have  another  tho'  you 
pray  till  your  knees  are  bleedin'.  The  mothers  av 
childer  shall  mock  you  behind  your  back  when 
you're  wringing  over  the  wash-tub.  You  shall  know 
what  ut  is  to  help  a  dhrunken  husband  home  an"  see 
him  go  to  the  gyard-room.  Will  that  plase  you, 
Dinah  Shadd,  that  won't  be  seen  talkin'  to  my 
daughter?  You  shall  talk  to  worse  than  Judy  before 
all's  over.  The  sergints'  wives  shall  look  down  on 
you  contemptuous,  daughter  av  a  sergint,  an'  you 
shall  cover  ut  all  up  wid  a  smiling  face  whin  your 
heart's  burstin'.  Stand  off  av  him,  Dinah  Shadd, 
for  I've  put  the  Black  Curse  of  Shielygh  upon  him 
an'  his  own  mouth  shall  make  ut  good." 

'She  pitched  forward  on  her  head  an'  began 
foamin'  at  the  mouth.  Dinah  Shadd  ran  out  wid 
water,  an'  Judy  dhragged  the  ould  woman  into  the 
Veranda  till  she  sat  up. 

'"I'm  old  an'  forlore,"  she  sez,  thremblin'  an' 
cryin',  "  and  'tis  like  I  say  a  dale  more  than  I  mane." 


134  SOLDIER  STORIES 

'"When  you're  able  to  walk  —  go,"  says  ould 
Mother  Shadd.  "This  house  has  no  place  for  the 
likes  av  you  that  have  cursed  my  daughter." 

' "  Eyah !  "  said  the  ould  woman.  "  Hard  words 
break  no  bones,  an'  Dinah  Shadd'll  kape  the  love  av 
her  husband  till  my  bones  are  green  corn.  Judy, 
darlin',  I  misremember  what  I  came  here  for.  Can 
you  lend  us  the  bottom  av  a  taycup  av  tay,  Mrs. 
Shadd?" 

'  But  Judy  dhragged  her  off  cryin'  as  tho'  her 
heart  wud  break.  An'  Dinah  Shadd  an'  I,  in  ten 
minutes  we  had  forgot  ut  all.' 

1  Then  why  do  you  remember  it  now  ? '  said  I. 

'Is  ut  like  I'd  forget?  Ivry  word  that  wicked 
ould  woman  spoke  fell  thrue  in  my  life  aftherwards, 
an'  I  cud  ha'  stud  ut  all  —  stud  ut  all,  —  excipt  when 
my  little  Shadd  was  born.  That  was  on  the  line 
av  march  three  months  afther  the  regiment  was 
taken  with  cholera.  We  were  betune  Umballa  an' 
Kalka  thin,  an'  I  was  on  picket.  Whin  I  came  off 
duty  the  women  showed  me  the  child,  an'  ut  turned 
on  uts  side  an'  died  as  I  looked.  We  buried  him 
by  the  road,  an'  Father  Victor  was  a  day's  march 
behind  wid  the  heavy  baggage,  so  the  comp'ny 
captain  read  a  prayer.  An'  since  then  I've  been  a 
childless  man,  an'  all  else  that  ould  Mother  Sheehy 
put  upon  me  an'  Dinah  Shadd.  What  do  you 
think,  Sorr?' 


THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH   SHADD  135 

I  thought  a  good  deal,  but  it  seemed  better  then 
to  reach  out  for  Mulvaney's  hand.  The  demon- 
stration nearly  cost  me  the  use  of  three  fingers. 
Whatever  he  knows  of  his  weaknesses,  Mulvaney 
is  entirely  ignorant  of  his  strength. 

'  But  what  do  you  think  ? '  he  repeated,  as  I  was 
straightening  out  the  crushed  fingers. 

My  reply  was  drowned  in  yells  and  outcries  from 
the  next  fire,  where  ten  men  were  shouting  for 
'  Orth'ris, '  '  Privit  Orth'ris,'  '  Mistah  Or— ther— ris ! ' 
1  Deah  boy,'  '  Cap'n  Orth'ris,'  '  Field-Marshal  Orth'- 
ris,' '  Stanley,  you  pen'north  o'  pop,  come  'ere  to 
your  own  comp'ny ! '  And  the  Cockney,  who  had 
been  delighting  another  audience  with  recondite  and 
Rabelaisian  yarns,  was  shot  down  among  his  ad- 
mirers by  the  major  force. 

'You've  crumpled  my  dress-shirt  'orrid,'  said  he, 
'an'  I  shan't  sing  no  more  to  this  'ere  bloomin' 
drawin'-room.' 

Learoyd,  roused  by  the  confusion,  uncoiled  him- 
self, crept  behind  Ortheris,  and  slung  him  aloft  on 
his  shoulders. 

'  Sing,  ye  bloomin'  hummin'  bird ! '  said  he,  and 
Ortheris,  beating  time  on  Learoyd's  skull,  delivered 
himself,  in  the  raucous  voice  of  the  Ratcliffe  High- 
way, of  this  song:  — 


136  SOLDIER  STORIES 

My  girl  she  give  me  the  go  onst, 

When  I  was  a  London  lad, 
An'  I  went  on  the  drink  for  a  fortnight,' 

An'  then  I  went  to  the  bad. 
The  Queen  she  gave  me  a  shillin' 

To  fight  for  'er  over  the  seas ; 
But  Guv'ment  built  me  a  fever-trap, 

An'  Injia  gave  me  disease. 

Chorus. 

Ho !  don't  you  'eed  what  a  girl  says, 
An'  don't  you  go  for  the  beer ; 

But  I  was  an  ass  when  I  was  at  grass, 
An'  that  is  why  I'm  here. 

I  fired  a  shot  at  a  Afghan, 

The  beggar  'e  fired  again, 
An'  I  lay  on  my  bed  with  a  'ole  in  my  'ed, 

An'  missed  the  next  campaign! 
I  up  with  my  gun  at  a  Burman 

Who  carried  a  bloomin'  dah, 
But  the  cartridge  stuck  and  the  bay'nit  bruk, 

An'  all  I  got  was  the  scar. 

Chorus. 

Ho!  don't  you  aim  at  a  Afghan 
When  you  stand  on  the  sky-line  clear; 

An'  don't  you  go  for  a  Burman 
If  none  o'  your  friends  is  near. 

I  served  my  time  for  a  corp'ral, 
An'  wetted  my  stripes  with  pop, 

For  I  went  on  the  bend  with  a  intimate  friend, 
An'  finished  the  night  in  the  '  shop.' 


THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH   SHADD  137 

I  served  my  time  for  a  sergeant ; 

The  colonel  'e  sez  '  No! 
The  most  you'll  see  is  a  full  C.B.'  » 

An'  .  .  .  very  next  night  'twas  so." 

Chorus. 

Ho!  don't  you  go  for  a  corp'ral 

Unless  your  'ed  is  clear ; 
But  I  was  an  ass  when  I  was  at  grass? 

An'  that  is  why  I'm  'ere. 

I've  tasted  the  luck  o'  the  army 

In  barrack  an1  camp  an'  clink, 
An'  I  lost  my  tip  through  the  bloomin'  trip 

Along  o'  the  women  an'  drink. 
I'm  down  at  the  heel  o'  my  service 

An'  when  I  am  laid  on  the  shelf, 
My  very  wust  friend  from  beginning  to  end 

By  the  blood  of  a  mouse  was  myself! 

Chorus. 

Ho  !  don't  you  'eed  what  a  girl  says, 

An'  don't  you  go  for  the  beer ; 
But  I  was  an  ass  when  I  was  at  grass, 

An'  that  is  why  I'm  'ere. 

Ay,  listen  to  our  little  man  now,  singin*  an* 
shoutin'  as  tho'  trouble  had  niver  touched  him. 
D'  you  remember  when  he  went  mad  with  the 
home-sickness  ? '  said  Mulvaney,  recalling  a  never- 
to-be-forgotten  season  when  Ortheris  waded  through 
the  deep  waters  of  affliction  and  behaved  abomi- 

1  Confined  to  barracks. 


'38 

hably. 
Eyah! 


SOLDIER  STORIES 

'  But    he's    talkin'    bitter    truth,    though. 

'  My  very  worst  frind  from  beginnin'  to  ind 
By  the  blood  av  a  mouse  was  mesilf  ! ' 


When  I  woke  I  saw  Mulvaney,  the  night-dew 
gemming  his  moustache,  leaning  on  his  rifle  at 
picket,  lonely  as  Prometheus  on  his  rock,  with  I 
know  not  what  vultures  tearing  his  liver. 


THE  INCARNATION   OF  KRISHNA 
MULVANEY 

Wohl  auf,  my  bully  cavaliers 

We  ride  to  church  to-day, 
The  man  that  hasn't  got  a  horse 

Must  steal  one  straight  away. 

Be  reverent,  men,  remember 

This  is  a  Gottes  haus 
Du,  Conrad,  cut  along  der  aisle 

And  schenck  der  whisky  aus. 

Hans  Breitmann's  Ride  to  Church. 

ONCE  upon  a  time,  very  far  from  England,  there 
lived  three  men  who  loved  each  other  so  greatly 
that  neither  man  nor  woman  could  come  between 
them.  They  were  in  no  sense  refined,  nor  to  be 
admitted  to  the  outer-door  mats  of  decent  folk, 
because  they  happened  to  be  private  soldiers  in 
Her  Majesty's  Army ;  and  private  soldiers  of  our 
service  have  small  time  for  self-culture.  Their 
duty  is  to  keep  themselves  and  their  accoutre- 
ments specklessly  clean,  to  refrain  from  getting 
drunk  more  often  than  is  necessary,  to  obey  their 


140  SOLDIER  STORIES 

superiors,  and  to  pray  for  a  war.  All  these  things 
my  friends  accomplished;  and  of  their  own  motion 
threw  in  some  fighting-work  for  which  the  Army 
Regulations  did  not  call.  Their  fate  sent  them  to 
serve  in  India,  which  is  not  a  golden  country, 
though  poets  have  sung  otherwise.  There  men 
die  with  great  swiftness,  and  those  who  live  suffer 
many  and  curious  things.  I  do  not  think  that  my 
friends  concerned  themselves  much  with  the  social 
or  political  aspects  of  the  East.  They  attended  a 
not  unimportant  war  on  the  northern  frontier, 
another  one  on  our  western  boundary,  and  a  third 
in  Upper  Burma.  Then  their  regiment  sat  still  to 
recruit,  and  the  boundless  monotony  of  cantonment 
life  was  their  portion.  They  were  drilled  morning 
and  evening  on  the  same  dusty  parade-ground. 
They  wandered  up  and  down  the  same  stretch  of 
dusty  white  road,  attended  the  same  church  and 
the  same  grog-shop,  and  slept  in  the  same  lime- 
washed  barn  of  a  barrack  for  two  long  years. 
There  was  Mulvaney,  the  father  in  the  craft,  who 
had  served  with  various  regiments  from  Bermuda 
to  Halifax,  old  in  war,  scarred,  reckless,  resource- 
ful, and  in  his  pious  hours  an  unequalled  soldier. 
To  him  turned  for  help  and  comfort  six  and  a 
half  feet  of  slow-moving,  heavy-footed  Yorkshire- 
man,  born  on  the  wolds,  bred  in  the  dales,  and 
educated  chiefly  among  the  carriers'  carts  at  the 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY     141 

back  of  York  railway-station.  His  name  was  Lea- 
royd,  and  his  chief  virtue  an  unmitigated  patience 
which  helped  him  to  win  fights.  How  Ortheris, 
a  fox-terrier  of  a  Cockney,  ever  came  to  be  one 
of  the  trio,  is  a  mystery  which  even  to-day  I  can- 
not explain.  'There  was  always  three  av  us,' 
Mulvaney  used  to  say.  '  An'  by  the  grace  av  God, 
so  long  as  our  service  lasts,  three  av  us  they'll 
always  be.  Tis  betther  so.' 

They  desired  no  companionship  beyond  their 
own,  and  it  was  evil  for  any  man  of  the  regi- 
ment who  attempted  dispute  with  them.  Physical 
argument  was  out  of  the  question  as  regarded 
Mulvaney  and  the  Yorkshireman ;  and  assault  on 
Ortheris  meant  a  combined  attack  from  these  twain 
—  a  business  which  no  five  men  were  anxious  to 
have  on  their  hands.  Therefore  they  flourished, 
sharing  their  drinks,  their  tobacco,  and  their  money ; 
good  luck  and  evil;  battle  and  the  chances  of 
death ;  life  and  the  chances  of  happiness  from 
Calicut  in  Southern,  to  Peshawur  in  Northern  India. 

Through  no  merit  of  my  own  it  was  my  good 
fortune  to  be  in  a  measure  admitted  to  their 
friendship  —  frankly  by  Mulvaney  from  the  begin- 
ning, sullenly  and  with  reluctance  by  Learoyd,  and 
suspiciously  by  Ortheris,  who  held  to  it  that  no 
man  not  in  the  Army  could  fraternise  with  a  red- 
coat. 'Like  to  like/  said  he.  'I'm  a  bloomin' 


I4«  SOLDIER  STORIES 

sodger  —  he's  a  bloomin'  civilian.  'Taint  natural 
—  that's  all.' 

But  that  was  not  all.  They  thawed  progres- 
sively,  and  in  the  thawing  told  me  more  of  their 
lives  and  adventures  than  I  am  ever  likely  to 
write. 

Omitting  all  else,  this  tale  begins  with  the 
Lamentable  Thirst  that  was  at  the  beginning  of 
First  Causes.  Never  was  such  a  thirst  —  Mulvaney 
told  me  so.  They  kicked  against  their  compulsory 
virtue,  but  the  attempt  was  only  successful  in  the 
case  of  Ortheris.  He,  whose  talents  were  many, 
went  forth  into  the  highways  and  stole  a  dog  from 
a  '  civilian '  —  videlicet,  some  one,  he  knew  not  who, 
not  in  the  Army.  Now  that  civilian  was  but  newly 
connected  by  marriage  with  the  Colonel  of  the 
regiment,  and  outcry  was  made  from  quarters  least 
anticipated  by  Ortheris,  and,  in  the  end,  he  was 
forced,  lest  a  worse  thing  should  happen,  to  dis- 
pose at  ridiculously  unremunerative  rates  of  as 
promising  a  small  terrier  as  ever  graced  one  end 
of  a  leading  string.  The  purchase-money  was 
barely  sufficient  for  one  small  outbreak,  which  led 
him  to  the  guard-room.  He  escaped,  however,  with 
nothing  worse  than  a  severe  reprimand,  and  a  few 
hours  of  punishment  drill.  Not  for  nothing  had 
he  acquired  the  reputation  of  being  'the  best 
soldier  of  his  inches'  in  the  regiment.  Mulvaney 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY     143 

had  taught  personal  cleanliness  and  efficiency  as 
the  first  articles  of  his  companions'  creed.  'A 
dhirty  man,'  he  was  used  to  say,  in  the  speech  of 
his  kind,  '  goes  to  Clink  for  a  weakness  in  the 
knees,  an'  is  coort-martialled  for  a  pair  av  socks 
missin' ;  but  a  clane  man,  such  as  is  an  ornament 
to  his  service  —  a  man  whose  buttons  are  gold, 
whose  coat  is  wax  upon  him,  an'  whose  'coutre- 
ments  are  widout  a  speck  —  that  man  may,  spakin' 
in  reason,  do  fwhat  he  likes  an'  dhrink  from  day 
to  divil.  That's  the  pride  av  bein'  dacint.' 

We  sat  together,  upon  a  day,  in  the  shade  of  a 
ravine  far  from  the  barracks,  where  a  watercourse 
used  to  run  in  rainy  weather.  Behind  us  was  the 
scrub  jungle,  in  which  jackals,  peacocks,  the  gray 
wolves  of  the  North-Western  Provinces,  and  occa- 
sionally a  tiger  estrayed  from  Central  India,  were 
supposed  to  dwell.  In  front  lay  the  cantonment, 
glaring  white  under  a  glaring  sun;  and  on  either 
side  ran  the  broad  road  that  led  to  Delhi. 

It  was  the  scrub  that  suggested  to  my  mind  the 
wisdom  of  Mulvaney  taking  a  day's  leave  and  going 
upon  a  shooting-tour.  The  peacock  is  a.  holy  bird 
throughout  India,  and  he  who  slays  one  is  in  danger 
of  being  mobbed  by  the  nearest  villagers;  but  on 
the  last  occasion  that  Mulvaney  had  gone  forth,  he 
had  contrived,  without  in  the  least  offending  local 
religious  susceptibilities,  to  return  with  six  beautiful 


144  SOLDIER  STO  UES 

peacock  skins  which  he  sold  to  profit  It  seemed 
just  possible  then 

'  But  fwhat  manner  av  use  is  ut  to  me  goin'  out 
widout  a  dhrink?  The  ground's  powdher-dhry 
underfoot,  an'  ut  gets  unto  the  throat  fit  to  kill,' 
Vailed  Mulvaney,  looking  at  me  reproachfully.  'An' 
a  peacock  is  not  a  bird  you  can  catch  the  tail  av 
onless  ye  run.  Can  a  man  run  on  wather  —  an' 
jungle-wather  too  ? ' 

Ortheris  had  considered  the  question  in  all  its 
bearings.  He  spoke,  chewing  his  pipe-stem  medita- 
tively the  while:  — 

'  Go  forth,  return  in  glory, 
To  Clusium's  royal  'ome : 
An'  round  these  bloomin'  temples  'ang 
The  bloomin'  shields  o1  Rome. 

l"ou  better  go.  You  ain't  like  to  shoot  yourself — - 
lot  while  there's  a  chanst  of  liquor.  Me  an' 
Learoyd'll  stay  at  'ome  an'  keep  shop  —  'case  o' 
anythin'  turnin'  up.  But  you  go  out  with  a  gas-pipe 
gun  an'  ketch  the  little  peacockses  or  somethin'. 
You  kin  get  one  day's  leave  easy  as  winkin'.  Go 
%long  an'  get  it,  an'  get  peacockses  or  somethin'.' 

'Jock,'  said  Mulvaney,  turning  to  Learoyd,  who 
was  half  asleep  under  the  shadow  of  the  bank.  He 
roused  slowly. 

'Sitha,  Mulvaney,  go,'  said  he. 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA   MULVANEY     MS 

And  Mulvaney  went;  cursing  hi«  allies  with 
Irish  fluency  and  barrack-room  point. 

'Take  note,'  said  he,  when  he  had  won  his  holi- 
day, and  appeared  dressed  in  his  roughest  clothes 
with  the  only  other  regimental  fowling-piece  in 
his  hand.  'Take  note,  Jock,  an'  you,  Orth'ris,  I 
am  goin'  in  the  face  av  my  own  will  —  all  for  to 
please  you.  I  misdoubt  anythin'  will  come  av  per- 
miscuous  huntin'  afther  peacockses  in  a  desolit  Ian'; 
an'  I  know  that  I  will  lie  down  an'  die  wid  thirrrst. 
Me  catch  peacockses  for  you,  ye  lazy  scutts  —  an' 
be  sacrificed  by  the  peasanthry  —  ugh ! ' 

He  waved  a  huge  paw  and  went  away. 

At  twilight,  long  before  the  appointed  hour,  he 
returned  empty-handed,  much  begrimed  with  dirt. 

'  Peacockses  ? '  queried  Ortheris  from  the  safe 
rest  of  a  barrack-room  table  whereon  he  was  smok- 
ing cross-legged,  Learoyd  fast  asleep  on  a  bench. 

'Jock,'  said  Mulvaney  without  answering,  as  he 
stirred  up  the  sleeper.  'Jock,  can  ye  fight?  Will 
ye  fight?' 

Very  slowly  the  meaning  of  the  words  commu- 
nicated itself  to  the  half-roused  man.  He  under- 
stood— and  again — what  might  these  things  mean? 
Mulvaney  was  shaking  him  savagely.  Meantime 
the  men  in  the  room  howled  with  delight.  There 
was  war  in  the  confederacy  at  last  —  war  and  the 
breaking  of  bonds. 


146  SOLDIER  STORIES 

Barrack-room  etiquette  is  stringent.  On  the 
direct  challenge  must  follow  the  direct  reply. 
This  is  more  binding  than  the  ties  of  tried  friend- 
ship. Once  again  Mulvaney  repeated  the  question. 
Learoyd  answered  by  the  only  means  in  his  power, 
and  so  swiftly  that  the  Irishman  had  barely  time 
to  avoid  the  blow.  The  laughter  around  increased. 
Learoyd  looked  bewilderedly  at  his  friend  —  him* 
self  as  greatly  bewildered.  Ortheris  dropped  from 
the  table  because  his  world  was  falling. 

'Come  outside/  said  Mulvaney,  and  as  the  oc- 
cupants of  the  barrack-room  prepared  joyously  to 
follow,  he  turned  and  said  furiously,  'There  will 
be  no  fight  this  night  —  onless  any  wan  av  you  is 
wishful  to  assist.  The  man  that  does,  follows  on.' 

No  man  moved.  The  three  passed  out  into  the 
moonlight,  Learoyd  fumbling  with  the  buttons  of 
his  coat.  The  parade-ground  was  deserted  except 
for  the  scurrying  jackals.  Mulvaney's  impetuous 
rush  carried  his  companions  far  into  the  open  ere 
Learoyd  attempted  to  turn  round  and  continue 
the  discussion. 

'Be  still  now.  'Twas  my  fault  for  beginnin 
things  in  the  middle  av  an  end,  Jock.  I  should 
ha'  comminst  wid  an  explanation ;  but  Jock,  dear, 
on  your  sowl  are  ye  fit,  think  you,  for  the  finest 
fight  that  iver  was  —  betther  than  fightin'  me  ? 
Considher  before  ye  answer.' 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA   MULVANEY      147 

More  than  ever  puzzled,  Learoyd  turned  round 
two  or  three  times,  felt  an  arm,  kicked  tentatively, 
and  answered,  'Ah'm  fit.'  He  was  accustomed  to 
fight  blindly  at  the  bidding  of  the  superior  mind. 

They  sat  them  down,  the  men  looking  on  from 
afar,  and  Mulvaney  untangled  himself  in  mighty 
words. 

'  Followin'  your  fools'  scheme  I  wint  out  into 
the  thrackless  desert  beyond  the  barricks.  An' 
there  I  met  a  pious  Hindu  dhriving  a  bullock- 
kyart.  I  tuk  ut  for  granted  he  wud  be  delighted 
for  to  convoy  me  a  piece,  an'  I  jumped  in ' 

'  You  long,  lazy,  black-haired  swine/  drawled 
Ortheris,  who  would  have  done  the  same  thing  under 
similar  circumstances. 

'  'Twas  the  height  av  policy.  That  naygur-man 
dhruv  miles  an'  miles  —  as  far  as  the  new  railway  line 
they're  buildin'  now  back  av  the  Tavi  River.  "  'Tis 
a  kyart  for  dhirt  only,"  says  he  now  an'  again  timor- 
eously,  to  get  me  out  av  ut.  "  Dhirt  I  am,"  sez  I, 
"  an'  the  dhryest  that  you  ever  kyarted.  Dhrive  on, 
me  son,  an*  glory  be  wid  you."  At  that  I  wint  to 
slape,  an'  took  no  heed  till  he  pulled  up  on  the 
embankmint  av  the  line  where  the  coolies  were  pilin' 
mud.  There  was  a  matther  av  two  thousand  coolies 
on  that  line — you  remimber  that.  Prisintly  a  bell 
rang,  an'  they  throops  off  to  a  big  pay-shed. 
"  Where's  the  white  man  in  charge  ? "  sez  I  to  my 


148  SOLDIER  STORIES 

kyart-dhriver.  "In  the  shed,"  sez  he,  "engaged  on 
a  riffle."  — "A  f  what  ?  "  sez  I.  "Riffle,"  sez  he. 
"  You  take  ticket.  He  take  money.  You  get  noth- 
in'."  — "Oho!"  sez  I,  "that's  fwhat  the  shuperior 
an'  cultivated  man  calls  a  raffle,  me  misbeguided 
child  av  darkness  an'  sin.  Lead  on  to  that  raffle, 
though  fwhat  the  mischief  'tis  doin'  so  far  away  from 
uts  home  —  which  is  the  charity-bazar  at  Christmas, 
an'  the  Colonel's  wife  grinnin'  behind  the  tea-table 
—  is  more  than  I  know."  Wid  that  I  wint  to  the 
shed  an'  found  'twas  pay-day  among  the  coolies. 
Their  wages  was  on  a  table  forninst  a  big,  fine,  red 
buck  av  a  man  —  sivun  f ut  high,  four  f ut  wide,  an' 
three  fut  thick,  wid  a  fist  on  him  like  a  corn-sack. 
He  was  payin'  the  coolies  fair  an'  easy,  but  he  wud 
ask  each  man  if  he  wud  raffle  that  month,  an'  each 
man  sez,  "Yes,"  av  course.  Thin  he  wud  deduct 
from  their  wages  accordin'.  Whin  all  was  paid,  he 
filled  an  ould  cigar-box  full  av  gun-wads  an'  scat- 
thered  ut  among  the  coolies.  They  did  not  take 
much  joy  av  that  performince,  an'  small  wondher. 
A  man  close  to  me  picks  up  a  black  gunwad  an' 
sings  out,  "I  have  ut." — "Good  may  ut  do  you," 
sez  I.  The  coolie  wint  forward  to  this  big,  fine,  red 
man,  who  threw  a  cloth  off  av  the  most  sumpshus, 
jooled,  enamelled  an'  variously  bedivilled  sedan-chair 
I  iver  saw.' 

'  Sedan-chair !      Put   your   'ead  in   a  bag.     That 


'"Out  of  this,"  sez  he,  "  I'm  in  charge  av  this  section  av  construction."  — 
"  I'm  in  charge  av  mesilf,"  sez  I,  "  an'  it's  like  I  will  stay  a  while." '  —  p.  149. 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY      149 

was  a  palanquin.     Don't  yer  know  a  palanquin  when 
you  see  it  ? '  said  Ortheris  with  great  scorn. 

'  I  chuse  to  call  ut  sedan-chair,  an'  chair  ut  shall 
be,  little  man,'  continued  the  Irishman.  ''Twas  a 
most  amazin'  chair  —  all  lined  wid  pink  silk  an'  fitted 
wid  red  silk  curtains.  "  Here  ut  is,"  sez  the  red 
man.  "  Here  ut  is,"  sez  the  coolie,  an'  he  grinned 
weakly-ways.  "  Is  ut  any  use  to  you  ?  "  sez  the  red 
man.  "  No,"  sez  the  coolie ;  "  I'd  like  to  make  a 
presint  av  ut  to  you."  —  "I  am  graciously  pleased  to 
accept  that  same,"  sez  the  red  man ;  an'  at  that  all 
the  coolies  cried  aloud  in  fwhat  was  mint  for  cheer- 
ful notes,  an'  wint  back  to  their  diggin',  lavin'  me 
alone  in  the  shed.  The  red  man  saw  me,  an'  his 
face  grew  blue  on  his  big,  fat  neck.  "  Fwhat  d'you 
want  here  ? "  sez  he.  "  Standin'-room  an'  no  more," 
sez  I,  "onless  it  may  be  fwhat  ye  niver  had,  an' 
that's  manners,  ye  rafflin'  ruffian,"  for  I  was  not 
goin'  to  have  the  Service  throd  upon.  "  Out  of  this," 
sez  he.  "  I'm  in  charge  av  this  section  av  construc- 
tion."-—"I'm  in  charge  av  mesilf,"  sez  I,  "an'  it's 
like  I  will  stay  a  while.  D'ye  raffle  much  in  these 
parts?"  —  " Fwhat' s  that  to  you?"  sez  he.  "Noth- 
in',"  sez  I,  "but  a  great  dale  to  you,  for  begad  I'm 
thinkin'  you  get  the  full  half  av  your  revenue 
from  that  sedan-chair.  Is  ut  always  raffled  so  ? "  I 
sez,  an'  wid  that  I  wint  to  a  coolie  to  ask  questions. 
Bhoys,  that  man's  name  is  Dearsley,  an'  he's  been 


1 50  SOLDIER    STORIES 

rafflin'  that  ould  sedan-chair  monthly  this  matther  av 
nine  months.  Ivry  coolie  on  the  section  takes  a  ticket 
—  or  he  gives  'em  the  go — wanst  a  month  on  pay-day. 
Ivry  coolie  that  wins  ut  gives  ut  back  to  him,  for 
'tis  too  big  to  carry  away,  an'  he'd  sack  the  man  that 
thried  to  sell  ut.  That  Dearsley  has  been  makin' 
the  rowlin'  wealth  av  Roshus  by  nefarious  rafflin'. 
Think  av  the  burnin'  shame  to  the  sufferin'  coolie- 
man  that  the  army  in  Injia  are  bound  to  protect  an* 
nourish  in  their  bosoms!  Two  thousand  coolies 
defrauded  wanst  a  month ! ' 

'  Dom  t'  coolies.  Has't  gotten  t'  cheer,  man  ?  * 
said  Learoyd. 

'Hould  on.  Havin'  onearthed  this  amazin'  an' 
stupenjus  fraud  committed  by  the  man  Dearsley,  I 
hild  a  council  av  war;  he  thryin'  all  the  time  to 
sejuce  me  into  a  fight  wid  opprobrious  language. 
That  sedan-chair  niver  belonged  by  right  to  any 
foreman  av  coolies.  'Tis  a  king's  chair  or  a  quane's. 
There's  gold  on  ut  an'  silk  an'  all  manner  av  trapese- 
mints.  Bhoys,  'tis  not  for  me  to  countenance  any 
sort  av  wrong-doin'  —  me  bein'  the  ould  man  —  but 

anyway  he  has  had  ut  nine  months,  an'  he  dare 

not  make  throuble  av  ut  was  taken  from  him.  Five 
miles  away,  or  ut  may  be  six ' 

There  was  a  long  pause,  and  the  jackals  howled 
merrily.  Learoyd  bared  one  arm,  and  contemplated 
it  in  the  moonlight.  Then  he  nodded  partly  to 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY      151 

himself  and  partly  to  his  friends.  Ortheris  wriggled 
with  suppressed  emotion. 

4 1  thought  ye  wud  see  the  reasonableness  av 
ut,'  said  Mulvaney.  '  I  made  bould  to  say  as  much 
to  the  man  before.  He  was  for  a  direct  front  at- 
tack —  f ut,  horse,  an'  guns  —  an'  all  for  nothin', 
seein'  that  I  had  no  thransport  to  convey  the 
machine  away.  "  I  will  not  argue  wid  you,"  sez  I, 
"  this  day,  but  subsequintly,  Mister  Dearsley,  me 
rafflin'  jool,  we  talk  ut  out  lengthways.  'Tis  no  good 
policy  to  swindle  the  naygur  av  his  hard-earned 
emolumints,  an'  by  presint  informashin'  "  —  'twas 
the  kyart  man  that  tould  me  —  "ye've  been  perpe- 
thrating  that  same  for  nine  months.  But  I'm  a  just 
man,"  sez  I,  "an'  overlookin*  the  presumpshin  that 
yondher  settee  wid  the  gilt  top  was  not  come  by 
honust,"  —  at  that  he  turned  sky-green,  so  I  knew 
things  was  more  thrue  than  tellable  —  "  not  come  by 
honust,  I'm  willin'  to  compound  the  felony  for  this 
month's  winnin's." ' 

'  Ah !     Ho ! '   from  Learoyd  and  Ortheris. 

'That  man  Dearsley's  rushin'  on  his  fate,'  con- 
tinued Mulvaney,  solemnly  wagging  his  head.  '  All 
Hell  had  no  name  bad  enough  for  me  that  tide. 
Faith,  he  called  me  a  robber !  Me  !  that  was  savin' 
him  from  continuin'  in  his  evil  ways  widout  a 
remonstrince  —  an'  to  a  man  av  conscience  a  remon- 
strince  may  change  the  chune  av  his  life.  "  'Tis  not 


I5»  SOLDIER  STORIES 

for  me  to  argue,  *  sez  I,  "  fwhatever  ye  are,  Mistei 
Dearsley,  but,  by  my  hand,  I'll  take  away  the 
temptation  for  you  that  lies  in  that  sedan-chair."  — • 
"You  will  have  to  fight  me  for  ut,"  sez  he,  "for  well 
I  know  you  will  never  dare  make  report  to  any 
one."  —  "Fight  I  will,"  sez  I,  "but  not  this  day,  for 
I'm  rejuced  for  want  av  nourishment."  —  "Ye're  an 
ould  bould  hand,"  sez  he,  sizin'  up  me  an'  down ;  "  an' 
a  jool  of  a  fight  we  will  have.  Eat  now  an'  dhrinlq 
an'  go  your  way."  Wid  that  he  gave  me  some  hump 
an'  whisky  —  good  whisky —  an'  we  talked  av  this  an' 
that  the  while.  "  It  goes  hard  on  me  now,"  sez  I, 
wipin'  my  mouth,  "  to  confiscate  that  piece  of  furni- 
ture, but  justice  is  justice."  —  "  Ye've  not  got  ut  yet," 
sez  he;  "there's  the  fight  between."  —  "There  is," 
sez  I,  "  an'  a  good  fight.  Ye  shall  have  the  pick  av 
the  best  quality  in  my  regimint  for  the  dinner  you 
have  given  this  day."  Thin  I  came  hot-foot  to  you 
two.  Hould  your  tongue,  the  both.  'Tis  this  way. 
To-morrow  we  three  will  go  there  an'  he  shall  have 
his  pick  betune  me  an'  Jock.  Jock's  a  deceivin' 
fighter,  for  he  is  all  fat  to  the  eye,  an'  he  moves  slow. 
Now  I'm  all  beef  to  the  look,  an'  I  move  quick.  By 
my  reckonin'  the  Dearsley  man  won't  take  me ;  so  me 
an'  Orth'ris'll  see  fair  play.  Jock,  I  tell  you,  'twill  be 
big  fightin'  —  whipped,  wid  the  cream  above  the  jam. 
Afther  the  business  'twill  take  a  good  three  av  us  — ' 
Jock'll  be  very  hurt  —  to  haul  away  that  sedan-chair.1 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY      153 

4  Palanquin.'     This  from  Ortheris. 

'  Fwhatever  ut  is,  we  must  have  ut.  Tis  the  only 
sellin'  piece  av  property  widin  reach  that  we  can  get 
so  cheap.  An'  fwhat's  a  fight  afther  all  ?  He  has 
robbed  the  naygur-man,  dishonust.  We  rob  him 
honust  for  the  sake  av  the  whisky  he  gave  me.' 

'  But  wot'll  we  do  with  the  bloomin'  article  when 
we've  got  it  ?  Them  palanquins  are  as  big  as  'ouses, 
an'  uncommon  'ard  to  sell,  as  M'Cleary  said  when  ye 
stole  the  sentry-box  from  the  Curragh.' 

'  Who's  goin'  to  do  t'  fightin'  ? '  said  Learoyd,  and 
Ortheris  subsided.  The  three  returned  to  barracks 
without  a  word.  Mulvaney's  last  argument  clinched 
the  matter.  This  palanquin  was  property,  vendible 
and  to  be  attained  in  the  simplest  and  least  embar- 
rassing fashion.  It  would  eventually  become  beer. 
Great  was  Mulvaney. 

Next  afternoon  a  procession  of  three  formed  itself 
and  disappeared  into  the  scrub  in  the  direction  of  the 
new  railway  line.  Learoyd  alone  was  without  care, 
for  Mulvaney  dived  darkly  into  the  future,  and  little 
Ortheris  feared  the  unknown.  What  befell  at  that 
interview  in  the  lonely  pay-shed  by  the  side  of  the 
half-built  embankment,  only  a  few  hundred  coolies 
know,  and  their  tale  is  a  confusing  one,  running 
thus: — 

'  We  were  at  work.  Three  men  in  red  coats  came. 
They  saw  the  Sahib  —  Dearsley  Sahib.  They  made 


154  SOLDIER  STORIES 

oration;  and  noticeably  the  small  man  among  the 
red-coats.  Dearsley  Sahib  also  made  oration,  and 
used  many  very  strong  words.  Upon  this  talk  they 
departed  together  to  an  open  space,  and  there  the  fat 
man  in  the  red  coat  fought  with  Dearsley  Sahib  after 
the  custom  of  white  men  —  with  his  hands,  making 
no  noise,  and  never  at  all  pulling  Dearsley  Sahib's 
hair.  Such  of  us  as  were  not  afraid  beheld  these 
things  for  just  so  long  a  time  as  a  man  needs  to  cook 
the  mid-day  meal.  The  small  man  in  the  red  coat  had 
possessed  himself  of  Dearsley  Sahib's  watch.  No, 
he  did  not  steal  that  watch.  He  held  it  in  his  hand, 
and  at  certain  seasons  made  outcry,  and  the  twain 
ceased  their  combat,  which  was  like  the  combat  of 
young  bulls  in  spring.  Both  men  were  soon  all  red, 
but  Dearsley  Sahib  was  much  more  red  than  the 
other.  Seeing  this,  and  fearing  for  his  life —  because 
we  greatly  loved  him  —  some  fifty  of  us  made  shift 
to  rush  upon  the  red-coats.  But  a  certain  man, — 
very  black  as  to  the  hair,  and  in  no  way  to  be  con- 
fused with  the  small  man,  or  the  fat  man  who  fought, 
—  that  man,  we  affirm,  ran  upon  us,  and  of  us  he 
embraced  some  ten  or  fifty  in  both  arms,  and  beat 
our  heads  together,  so  that  our  livers  turned  to  water, 
and  we  ran  away.  It  is  not  good  to  interfere  in  the 
fightings  of  white  men.  After  that  Dearsley  Sahib  fell 
and  did  not  rise,  these  men  jumped  upon  his  stomach 
and  despoiled  him  of  all  his  money,  and  attempted  to 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY      155 

fire  the  pay-shed,  and  departed.  Is  it  true  that 
Dearsley  Sahib  makes  no  complaint  of  these  latter 
things  having  been  done  ?  We  were  senseless  with 
fear,  and  do  not  at  all  remember.  There  was  no  pal- 
anquin near  the  pay-shed.  What  do  we  know  about 
palanquins  ?  Is  it  true  that  Dearsley  Sahib  does  not 
return  to  this  place,  on  account  of  his  sickness,  for 
ten  days  ?  This  is  the  fault  of  those  bad  men  in 
the  red  coats,  who  should  be  severely  punished ;  for 
Dearsley  Sahib  is  both  our  father  and  mother,  and 
we  love  him  much.  Yet,  if  Dearsley  Sahib  does  not 
return  to  this  place  at  all,  we  will  speak  the  truth. 
There  was  a  palanquin,  for  the  up-keep  of  which  we 
were  forced  to  pay  nine-tenths  of  our  monthly  wage. 
On  such  mulctings  Dearsley  Sahib  allowed  us  to 
make  obeisance  to  him  before  the  palanquin.  What 
could  we  do  ?  We  were  poor  men.  He  took  a  full 
half  of  our  wages.  Will  the  Government  repay  us 
those  moneys?  Those  three  men  in  red  coats  bore 
the  palanquin  upon  their  shoulders  and  departed. 
All  the  money  that  Dearsley  Sahib  had  taken  from 
us  was  in  the  cushions  of  that  palanquin.  Therefore 
they  stole  it.  Thousands  of  rupees  were  there  —  all 
our  money.  It  was  our  bank-box,  to  fill  which  we 
cheerfully  contributed  to  Dearsley  Sahib  three- 
sevenths  of  our  monthly  wage.  Why  does  the  white 
man  look  upon  us  with  the  eye  of  disfavour?  Before 
God,  there  was  a  palanquin,  and  now  there  is  no 


156  SOLDIER  STORIES 

palanquin  ;  and  if  they  send  the  police  here  to  make 
inquisition,  we  can  only  say  that  there  never  has  been 
any  palanquin.  Why  should  a  palanquin  be  near 
these  works  ?  We  are  poor  men,  and  we  know 
nothing.' 

Such  is  the  simplest  version  of  the  simplest  story 
connected  with  the  descent  upon  Dearsley.  From 
the  lips  of  the  coolies  I  received  it.  Dearsley  him- 
self was  in  no  condition  to  say  anything,  and  Mul- 
vaney  preserved  a  massive  silence,  broken  only  by 
the  occasional  licking  of  the  lips.  He  had  seen  a 
fight  so  gorgeous  that  even  his  power  of  speech  was 
taken  from  him.  I  respected  that  reserve  until,  three 
days  after  the  affair,  I  discovered  in  a  disused  stable 
in  my  quarters  a  palanquin  of  unchastened  splendour 
—  evidently  in  past  days  the  litter  of  a  queen.  The 
pole  whereby  it  swung  between  the  shoulders  of  the 
bearers  was  rich  with  the  painted  papier-macht  of 
Cashmere.  The  shoulder-pads  were  of  yellow  silk. 
The  panels  of  the  litter  itself  were  ablaze  with  the 
loves  of  all  the  gods  and  goddesses  of  the  Hindu 
Pantheon  —  lacquer  on  cedar.  The  cedar  sliding 
doors  were  fitted  with  hasps  of  translucent  Jaipur 
enamel  and  ran  in  grooves  shod  with  silver.  The 
cushions  were  of  brocaded  Delhi  silk,  and  the  cur- 
tains which  once  hid  any  glimpse  of  the  beauty  of 
the  king's  palace  were  stiff  with  gold.  Closer  inves- 
tigation showed  that  the  entire  fabric  was  every- 


Nine  roun's  they  were  even  matched,  an'  at  the  tenth .'  —  P.  157- 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY      157 

where  rubbed  and  discoloured  by  time  and  wear; 
but  even  thus  it  was  sufficiently  gorgeous  to  deserve 
housing  on  the  threshold  of  a  royal  zenana.  I  found 
no  fault  with  it,  except  that  it  was  in  my  stable. 
Then,  trying  to  lift  it  by  the  silver-shod  shoulder-pole, 
I  laughed.  The  road  from  Dearsley's  pay-shed  to 
the  cantonment  was  a  narrow  and  uneven  one,  and, 
traversed  by  three  very  inexperienced  palanquin- 
bearers,  one  of  whom  was  sorely  battered  about  the 
head,  must  have  been  a  path  of  torment.  Still  I 
did  not  quite  recognise  the  right  of  the  three 
musketeers  to  turn  me  into  a  '  fence '  for  stolen 
property. 

'  I'm  askin'  you  to  warehouse  ut,'  said  Mulvaney, 
when  he  was  brought  to  consider  the  question. 
'There's  no  steal  in  ut.  Dearsley  tould  us  we  cud 
have  ut  if  we  fought.  Jock  fought  —  an',  oh,  Sorr, 
when  the  throuble  was  at  uts  finest  an'  Jock  was 
bleedin'  like  a  stuck  pig,  an'  little  Orth'ris  was 
shquealin'  on  one  leg  chewin'  big  bites  out  av 
Dearsley's  watch,  I  wud  ha'  given  my  place  at  the 
fight  to  have  had  you  see  wan  round.  He  tuk  Jock, 
as  I  suspicioned  he  would,  an'  Jock  was  deceptive. 
Nine  roun's  they  were  even  matched,  an'  at  the 

tenth About  that  palanquin  now.     There's  not 

the  least  throuble  in  the  world,  or  we  wud  not  ha' 
brought  ut  here.  You  will  ondherstand  that  the 
Queen  —  God  bless  her !  —  does  not  reckon  for  a 


158  SOLDIER   STORIES 

privit  soldier  to  kape  elephints  an'  palanquins  an* 
sich  in  barricks.  Afther  we  had  dhragged  ut  down 
from  Dearsley's  through  that  cruel  scrub  that  near 
broke  Orth'ris's  heart,  we  set  ut  in  the  ravine  for  a 
night ;  an'  a  thief  av  a  porcupine  an'  a  civet-cat  av 
a  jackal  roosted  in  ut,  as  well  we  knew  in  the 
mornin'.  I  put  ut  to  you,  Sorr,  is  an  elegint  palan- 
quin, fit  for  the  princess,  the  natural  abidin'  place  av 
all  the  vermin  in  cantonmints?  We  brought  ut  to 
you,  afther  dhark,  and  put  ut  in  your  shtable.  Do 
not  let  your  conscience  prick.  Think  av  the  rejoicin' 
men  in  the  pay-shed  yonder  —  lookin'  at  Dearsley 
wid  his  head  tied  up  in  a  towel  —  an'  well  knowin' 
that  they  can  dhraw  their  pay  ivry  month  widout 
stoppages  for  riffles.  Indirectly,  Sorr,  you  have 
rescued  from  an  onprincipled  son  av  a  night-hawk 
the  peasanthry  av  a  numerous  village.  An'  besides, 
will  I  let  that  sedan-chair  rot  on  our  hands?  Not 
I.  Tis  not  every  day  a  piece  av  pure  joolry  comes 
into  the  market.  There's  not  a  king  widin  these 
forty  miles'  —  he  waved  his  hand  round  the  dusty 
horizon  — '  not  a  king  wud  not  be  glad  to  buy  ut. 
Some  day  mesilf,  whin  I  have  leisure,  I'll  take  ut  up 
along  the  road  an'  dishpose  av  ut.' 

'  How  ? '  said  I,  for  I  knew  the  man  was  capable 
of  anything. 

'  Get  into  ut,  av  coorse,  and  keep  wan  eye  open 
through  the  curtains.  Whin  I  see  a  likely  man  av 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY     159 

the  native  persuasion,  I  will  descind  blushin'  from 
my  canopy  and  say,  "  Buy  a  palanquin,  ye  black 
scutt  ? "  I  will  have  to  hire  four  men  to  carry  me 
first,  though;  and  that's  impossible  till  next  pay- 
day.' 

Curiously  enough,  Learoyd,  who  had  fought  for 
the  prize,  and  in  the  winning  secured  the  highest 
pleasure  life  had  to  offer  him,  was  altogether  dis- 
posed to  undervalue  it,  while  Ortheris  openly  said 
it  would  be  better  to  break  the  thing  up.  Dearsley, 
he  argued,  might  be  a  many-sided  man,  capable, 
despite  his  magnificent  fighting  qualities,  of  setting 
in  motion  the  machinery  of  the  civil  law  —  a  thing 
much  abhorred  by  the  soldier.  Under  any  circum- 
stances their  fun  had  come  and  passed;  the  next 
pay-day  was  close  at  hand,  when  there  would  be 
beer  for  all.  Wherefore  longer  conserve  the  painted 
palanquin  ? 

'A  first-class  rifle-shot  an'  a  good  little  man  av 
your  inches  you  are,'  said  Mulvaney.  '  But  you 
niver  had  a  head  worth  a  soft-boiled  egg.  'Tis 
me  has  to  lie  awake  av  nights  schamin'  an'  plottin' 
for  the  three  av  us.  Orth'ris,  me  son,  'tis  no  mat- 
ther  av  a  few  gallons  av  beer  —  no,  nor  twenty 
gallons  —  but  tubs  an'  vats  an'  firkins  in  that  sedan, 
chair.  Who  ut  was,  an'  what  ut  was,  an'  how  ut 
got  there,  we  do  not  know;  but  I  know  in  my 
bones  that  you  an'  me  an'  Jock  wid  his  sprained 


1 00  SOLDIER  STORIES 

thumb  will  get  a  fortune  thereby.  Lave  me  alone, 
an'  let  me  think.' 

Meantime  the  palanquin  stayed  in  my  stall,  the 
key  of  which  was  in  Mulvaney's  hands. 

Pay-day  came,  and  with  it  beer.  It  was  not  in 
experience  to  hope  that  Mulvaney,  dried  by  four 
weeks'  drought,  would  avoid  excess.  Next  morn- 
ing he  and  the  palanquin  had  disappeared.  He 
had  taken  the  precaution  of  getting  three  days' 
leave  'to  see  a  friend  on  the  railway,'  and  the 
Colonel,  well  knowing  that  the  seasonal  outburst 
was  near,  and  hoping  it  would  spend  its  force 
beyond  the  limits  of  his  jurisdiction,  cheerfully  gave 
him  all  he  demanded.  At  this  point  Mulvaney's 
history,  as  recorded  in  the  mess-room,  stopped. 

Ortheris  carried  it  not  much  further.  '  No,  'e 
wasn't  drunk,'  said  the  little  man  loyally,  'the 
liquor  was  no  more  than  feelin'  its  way  round 
inside  of  'im ;  but  'e  went  an'  filled  that  'ole 
bloomin'  palanquin  with  bottles  'fore  'e  went  off. 
'E's  gone  an'  'ired  six  men  to  carry  'im,  an'  I  'ad 
to  'elp  'im  into  'is  nupshal  couch,  'cause  'e  wouldn't 
'ear  reason.  'E's  gone  off  in  'is  shirt  an'  trousies, 
swearin'  tremenjus  —  gone  down  the  road  in  the 
palanquin,  wavin'  'is  legs  out  o'  windy.' 

'Yes,'  said  I,  'but  where?' 

'  Now  you  arx  me  a  question.  'E  said  'e  was 
goin'  to  sell  that  palanquin,  but  from  observations 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY      161 

what  happened  when  I  was  stuffin'  'im  through  the 
door,  I  fancy  'e's  gone  to  the  new  embankment  to 
mock  at  Dearsley.  'Soon  as  Jock's  off  duty  I'm 
goin'  there  to  see  if  'e's  safe  —  not  Mulvaney,  but 
t'other  man.  My  saints,  but  I  pity  'im  as  'elps 
Terence  out  o'  the  palanquin  when  'e's  once  fair 
drunk ! ' 

'  He'll  come  back  without  harm,'  I  said. 

"Corse  'e  will.  On'y  question  is,  what'll  'e  be 
doin'  on  the  road  ?  Killing  Dearsley,  like  as  not. 

* 

'E  shouldn't  'a  gone  without  Jock  or  me.' 

Reinforced  by  Learoyd,  Ortheris  sought  the  fore- 
man of  the  coolie-gang.  Dearsley's  head  was  still 
embellished  with  towels.  Mulvaney,  drunk  or  sober, 
would  have  struck  no  man  in  that  condition,  and 
Dearsley  indignantly  denied  that  he  would  have 
taken  advantage  of  the  intoxicated  brave. 

'  I  had  my  pick  o'  you  two,'  he  explained  to 
Learoyd,  '  and  you  got  my  palanquin  —  not  before 
I'd  made  my  profit  on  it.  Why'd  I  do  harm  when 
everything's  settled?'  Your  man  did  come  here  — 
drunk  as  Davy's  sow  on  a  frosty  night  —  came 
a-purpose  to  mock  me  —  stuck  his  head  out  of  the 
door  an"  called  me  a  crucified  hodman.  I  made 
him  drunker,  an'  sent  him  along.  But  I  nevei 
touched  him.' 

To  these  things  Learoyd,  slow  to  perceive  th(. 
evidences  of  sincerity,  answered  only,  '  If  owt  comei 


»6t  SOLDIER  STORIES 

to  Mulvaaney  'long  o'  you,  I'll  gripple  you,  clouts  or 
no  clouts  on  your  ugly  head,  an'  I'll  draw  t'  throat 
twisty  ways,  man.  See  there  now.' 

The  embassy  removed  itself,  and  Dearsley,  the 
battered,  laughed  alone  over  his  supper  that  evening. 

Three  days  passed  —  a  fourth  and  a  fifth.  The 
week  drew  to  a  close  and  Mulvaney  did  not  return. 
He,  his  royal  palanquin,  and  his  six  attendants,  had 
vanished  into  air.  A  very  large  and  very  tipsy 
soldier,  his  feet  sticking  out  of  the  litter  of  a  reigning 
princess,  is  not  a  thing  to  travel  along  the  ways  with- 
out comment.  Yet  no  man  of  all  the  country  round 
had  seen  any  such  wonder.  He  was,  and  he  was 
not;  and  Learoyd  suggested  the  immediate  smash- 
ment  of  Dearsley  as  a  sacrifice  to  his  ghost.  Ortheris 
insisted  that  all  was  well,  and  in  the  light  of  past  ex- 
perience his  hopes  seemed  reasonable. 

'  When  Mulvaney  goes  up  the  road,'  said  he,  '  'e's 
like  to  go  a  very  long  ways  up,  specially  when  'e's 
so  blue  drunk  as  'e  is  now.  But  what  gits  me  is  'is 
not  bein'  'eard  of  pullin'  wool  off  the  niggers  some- 
wheres  about.  That  don't  look  good.  The  drink 
must  ha'  died  out  in  'im  by  this,  unless  'e's  broke  a 
bank,  an'  then  —  why  don't  'e  come  back?  'E 
didn't  ought  to  ha'  gone  off  without  us.' 

Even  Ortheris's  heart  sank  at  the  end  of  the 
seventh  day,  for  half  the  regiment  were  out  scouring 
the  countryside,  and  Learoyd  had  been  forced  to 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY      163 

fight  two  men  who  hinted  openly  that  Mulvaney 
had  deserted.  To  do  him  justice,  the  Colonel  laughed 
at  the  notion,  even  when  it  was  put  forward  by  his 
much-trusted  Adjutant. 

'  Mulvaney  would  as  soon  think  of  deserting  as 
you  would,'  said  he.  '  No ;  he's  either  fallen  into  a 
mischief  among  the  villagers  —  and  yet  that  isn't 
likely,  for  he'd  blarney  himself  out  of  the  Pit;  or 
else  he  is  engaged  on  urgent  private  affairs  —  some 
stupendous  devilment  that  we  shall  hear  of  at  mess 
after  it  has  been  the  round  of  the  barrack-rooms. 
The  worst  of  it  is  that  I  shall  have  to  give  him 
twenty-eight  days'  confinement  at  least  for  being 
absent  without  leave,  just  when  I  most  want  him  to 
lick  the  new  batch  of  recruits  into  shape.  I  never 
knew  a  man  who  could  put  a  polish  on  young 
soldiers  as  quickly  as  Mulvaney  can.  How  does  he 
doit?' 

'  With  blarney  and  the  buckle-end  of  a  belt,  Sir,' 
said  the  Adjutant.  '  He  is  worth  a  couple  of  non- 
commissioned officers  when  we  are  dealing  with  an 
Irish  draft,  and  the  London  lads  seem  to  adore  him. 
The  worst  of  it  is  that  if  he  goes  to  the  cells  the 
other  two  are  neither  to  hold  nor  to  bind  till  he 
comes  out  again.  I  believe  Ortheris  preaches  mutiny 
on  those  occasions,  and  I  know  that  the  mere  pres- 
ence of  Learoyd  mourning  for  Mulvaney  kills  all 
the  cheerfulness  of  his  room.  The  sergeants  tell  me 


1 64  SOLDIER  STORIES 

that  he  allows  no  man  to  laugh  when  he  feels  un- 
happy. They  are  a  queer  gang.' 

'  For  all  that,  I  wish  we  had  a  few  more  of  them. 
I  like  a  well-conducted  regiment,  but  these  pasty- 
faced,  shifty-eyed,  mealy-mouthed  young  slouchers 
from  the  Depot  worry  me  sometimes  with  their 
offensive  virtue.  They  don't  seem  to  have  back- 
bone enough  to  do  anything  but  play  cards  and 
prowl  round  the  married  quarters.  I  believe  I'd 
forgive  that  old  villain  on  the  spot  if  he  turned  up 
with  any  sort  of  explanation  that  I  could  in  decency 
accept.' 

'  Not  likely  to  be  much  difficulty  about  that,  Sir,' 
said  the  Adjutant.  '  Mulvaney's  explanations  are 
only  one  degree  less  wonderful  than  his  perform- 
ances. They  say  that  when  he  was  in  the  Black 
Tyrone,  before  he  came  to  us,  he  was  discovered 
on  the  banks  of  the  Liffey  trying  to  sell  his  colo- 
nel's charger  to  a  Donegal  dealer  as  a  perfect 
lady's  hack.  Shackbolt  commanded  the  Tyrone 
then.' 

'  Shackbolt  must  have  had  apoplexy  at  the 
thought  of  his  ramping  war-horses  answering  to 
that  description.  He  used  to  buy  unbacked  devils, 
and  tame  them  on  some  pet  theory  of  starvation. 
What  did  Mulvaney  say?' 

'That  he  was  a  member  of  the  Society  for  the 
Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals,  anxious  to  "sell 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA   MULVANEY     165 

the  poor  baste  where  he  would  get  something  to  fill 
out  his  dimples."  Shackbolt  laughed,  but  I  fancy 
that  was  why  Mulvaney  exchanged  to  ours.' 

'  I  wish  he  were  back,'  said  the  Colonel ;  '  for  I 
like  him  and  believe  he  likes  me.' 

That  evening,  to  cheer  our  souls,  Learoyd,  Orthe- 
ris,  and  I  went  into  the  waste  to  smoke  out  a  por- 
cupine. All  the  dogs  attended,  but  even  their 
clamour  —  and  they  began  to  discuss  the  short- 
comings of  porcupines  before  they  left  canton- 
ments—  could  not  take  us  out  of  ourselves.  A 
large,  low  moon  turned  the  tops  of  the  plume- 
grass  to  silver,  and  the  stunted  camelthorn  bushes 
and  sour  tamarisks  into  the  likenesses  of  trooping 
devils.  The  smell  of  the  sun  had  not  left  the 
earth,  and  little  aimless  winds  blowing  across  the 
rose-gardens  to  the  southward  brought  the  scent 
of  dried  roses  and  water.  Our  fire  once  started, 
and  the  dogs  craftily  disposed  to  wait  the  dash  of 
the  porcupine,  we  climbed  to  the  top  of  a  rain- 
scarred  hillock  of  earth,  and  looked  across  the  scrub 
seamed  with  cattle  paths,  white  with  the  long  grass, 
and  dotted  with  spots  of  level  pond-bottom,  where 
the  snipe  would  gather  in  winter. 

'This,'  said  Ortheris,  with  a  sigh,  as  he  took  in 
the  unkempt  desolation  of  it  all,  'this  is  sangui- 
nary. This  is  unusually  sanguinary.  Sort  o'  mad 
country.  Like  a  grate  when  the  fire's  put  out  by 


1 66  SOLDIER  STORIES 

the  sun.'  He  shaded  his  eyes  against  the  moon- 
light. '  An'  there's  a  loony  dancin'  in  the  middle 
of  it  all.  Quite  right.  I'd  dance  too  if  I  wasn't 
so  downheart.' 

There  pranced  a  Portent  in  the  face  of  the 
moon  —  a  huge  and  ragged  spirit  of  the  waste,  that 
flapped  its  wings  from  afar.  It  had  risen  out  of 
the  earth;  it  was  coming  towards  us,  and  its  out- 
line was  never  twice  the  same.  The  toga,  table- 
cloth, or  dressing-gown,  whatever  the  creature  wore, 
took  a  hundred  shapes.  Once  it  stopped  on  a 
neighbouring  mound  and  flung  all  its  legs  and  arms 
to  the  winds. 

'  My,  but  that  scarecrow  'as  got  'em  bad ! '  said 
Ortheris.  '  Seems  like  if  'e  comes  any  furder  we'll 
'ave  to  argify  with  'im.' 

Learoyd  raised  himself  from  the  dirt  as  a  bull 
clears  his  flanks  of  the  wallow.  And  as  a  bull 
bellows,  so  he,  after  a  short  minute  at  gaze,  gave 
tongue  to  the  stars. 

'  MULVAANEY  !       MULVAANEY  !      A-hoO  !  ' 

Oh  then  it  was  that  we  yelled,  and  the  figure 
dipped  into  the  hollow,  till,  with  a  crash  of  rending 
grass,  the  lost  one  strode  up  to  the  light  of  the  fire, 
and  disappeared  to  the  waist  in  a  wave  of  joyous 
dogs !  Then  Learoyd  and  Ortheris  gave  greeting, 
bass  and  falsetto  together,  both  swallowing  a  lump 
in  the  throat. 


There  pranced  a  Portent  in  the  face  of  the  moon. —  1J.  166. 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY      167 

'  You  damned  fool ! '  said  they,  and  severally 
pounded  him  with  their  fists. 

'  Go  easy ! '  he  answered ;  wrapping  a  huge  arm 
round  each.  '  I  would  have  you  to  know  that  I 
am  a  god,  to  be  treated  as  such  —  tho',  by  my 
faith,  I  fancy  I've  got  to  go  to  the  guard-room  just 
like  a  privit  soldier.' 

The  latter  part  of  the  sentence  destroyed  the 
suspicions  raised  by  the  former.  Any  one  would 
have  been  justified  in  regarding  Mulvaney  as  mad. 
He  was  hatless  and  shoeless,  and  his  shirt  and 
trousers  were  dropping  off  him.  But  he  wore  one 
wondrous  garment  —  a  gigantic  cloak  that  fell  from 
collar-bone  to  heel  —  of  pale  pink  silk,  wrought  all 
over  in  cunningest  needlework  of  hands  long  since 
dead,  with  the  loves  of  the  Hindu  gods.  The 
monstrous  figures  leaped  in  and  out  of  the  light 
of  the  fire  as  he  settled  the  folds  round  him. 

Ortheris  handled  the  stuff  respectfully  for  a 
moment  while  I  was  trying  to  remember  where  I 
had  seen  it  before.  Then  he  screamed,  'What 
'ave  you  done  with  the  palanquin  ?  You're  wearin' 
the  lininY 

'  I  am,'  said  the  Irishman,  '  an'  by  the  same  token 
the  'broidery  is  scrapin'  my  hide  off.  I've  lived  in 
this  sumpshus  counterpane  for  four  days.  Me  son, 
I  begin  to  ondherstand  why  the  naygur  is  no  use. 
Widout  me  boots,  an'  me  trousies  like  an  openwork 


1 68  SOLDIER  STORIES 

stocking  on  a  gyurl's  leg  at  a  dance,  I  begin  to  feel 
like  a  naygur-man  —  all  fearful  an'  timoreous.  Give 
me  a  pipe  an'  I'll  tell  on.' 

He  lit  a  pipe,  resumed  his  grip  of  his  two  friends, 
and  rocked  to  and  fro  in  a  gale  of  laughter. 

'  Mulvaney,'  said  Ortheris  sternly,  '  'taint  no  time 
for  laughin'.  You've  given  Jock  an'  me  more 
trouble  than  you're  worth.  You  'ave  been  absent 
without  leave  an'  you'll  go  into  cells  for  that;  an' 
you  'ave  come  back  disgustin'ly  dressed  an'  most 
improper  in  the  linin'  o'  that  bloomin'  palanquin. 
Instid  of  which  you  laugh.  An'  we  thought  you 
was  dead  all  the  time.' 

'  Bhoys,'  said  the  culprit,  still  shaking  gently, 
'whin  I've  done  my  tale  you  may  cry  if  you  like, 
an'  little  Orth'ris  here  can  thrample  my  inside  out. 
Ha'  done  an"  listen.  My  performinces  have  been 
stupenjus :  my  luck  has  been  the  blessed  luck  av 
the  British  Army  —  an'  there's  no  betther  than 
that.  I  went  out  dhrunk  an'  dhrinkin'  in  the 
palanquin,  and  I  have  come  back  a  pink  god.  Did 
any  of  you  go  to  Dearsley  afther  my  time  was  up  ? 
He  was  at  the  bottom  of  ut  all.' 

'  Ah  said  so,'  murmured  Learoyd.  '  To-morrow 
ah'll  smash  t'  face  in  upon  his  heead.' 

'  Ye  will  not.  Dearsley's  a  jool  av  a  man.  Af 
ther  Ortheris  had  put  me  into  the  palanquin  an 
the  six  bearer-men  were  gruntin'  down  the 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY      169 

*  tuk  thought  to  mock  Dearsley  for  that  fight.  So 
I  tould  thim,  "  Go  to  the  embankmint,"  and  there, 
bein'  most  amazin'  full,  I  shtuck  my  head  out  av 
the  concern  an'  passed  compliments  wid  Dearsley. 
I  must  ha'  miscalled  him  outrageous,  for  whin  I  am 
that  way  the  power  av  the  tongue  comes  on  me. 
I  can  bare  remimber  tellin'  him  that  his  mouth 
opened  endways  like  the  mouth  av  a  skate,  which 
was  thrue  afther  Learoyd  had  handled  ut;  an'  I 
clear  remimber  his  takin'  no  manner  nor  matter 
av  offence,  but  givin'  me  a  big  dhrink  of  beer. 
'Twas  the  beer  did  the  thrick,  for  I  crawled  back 
into  the  palanquin,  steppin'  on  me  right  ear  wid 
me  left  foot,  an'  thin  I  slept  like  the  dead.  Wanst 
I  half  roused,  an'  begad  the  noise  in  my  head  was 
tremenjus  —  roarin'  and  rattlin'  an'  poundin',  such 
as  was  quite  new  to  me.  "  Mother  av  Mercy," 
thinks  I,  "phwat  a  concertina  I  will  have  on  my 
shoulders  whin  I  wake ! "  An'  wid  that  I  curls 
mysilf  up  to  sleep  before  ut  should  get  hould  on 
me.  Bhoys,  that  noise  was  not  dhrink,  'twas  the 
rattle  av  a  thrain ! ' 

There  followed  an  impressive  pause. 

'Yes,  he  had  put  me  on  a  thrain  —  put  me  pal- 
anquin an'  all,  an'  six  black  assassins  av  his  own 
coolies  that  was  in  his  nefarious  confidence,  on  the 
flat  av  a  oallast-thruck,  and  we  were  rowlin'  an' 
bowlin'  along  to  Benares.  Glory  be  that  I  did  not 


1 70  SOLDIER  STORIES 

wake  up  thin  an'  introjuce  mysilf  to  the  coolies. 
As  I  was  sayin'  I  slept  for  the  betther  part  av 
a  day  an'  a  night.  But  remimber  you,  that  that 
man  Dearsley  had  packed  me  off  on  wan  av  his 
material-thrains  to  Benares,  all  for  to  make  me 
overstay  my  leave  an'  get  me  into  the  cells.' 

The  explanation  was  an  eminently  rational  one. 
Benares  lay  at  least  ten  hours  by  rail  from  the 
cantonments,  and  nothing  in  the  world  could  have 
saved  Mulvaney  from  arrest  as  a  deserter  had  he 
appeared  there  in  the  apparel  of  his  orgies.  Dears- 
ley  had  not  forgotten  to  take  revenge.  Learoyd, 
drawing  back  a  little,  began  to  play  soft  blows  over 
selected  portions  of  Mulvaney's  body.  His  thoughts 
were  away  on  the  embankment,  and  they  meditated 
evil  for  Dearsley.  Mulvaney  continued  :  — 

'Whin  I  was  full  awake  the  palanquin  was  set 
down  in  a  street,  I  suspicioned,  for  I  cud  hear 
people  passin'  an'  talkin'.  But  I  knew  well  I  was 
far  from  home.  There  is  a  queer  smell  upon  our 
cantonments — a  smell  av  dried  earth  and  brick- 
kilns wid  whiffs  av  cavalry  stable-litter.  This  place 
smelt  marigold  flowers  an'  bad  water,  an'  wanst 
somethin'  alive  came  an*  blew  heavy  with  his  muz- 
zle at  the  chink  av  the  shutter.  "  It's  in  a  village 
I  am,"  thinks  I  to  mysilf,  "  an'  the  parochial  buffalo 
is  investigatin'  the  palanquin."  But  anyways  I  had 
no  desire  to  move.  Only  lie  still  whin  you're  ID 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY     171 

foreign  parts  an'  the  standin'  luck  av  the  British 
Army  will  carry  ye  through.  That  is  an  epigram. 
I  made  ut. 

'Thin  a  lot  av  whishperin'  divils  surrounded  the 
palanquin.  "  Take  ut  up,"  sez  wan  man.  "  But 
who'll  pay  us?"  sez  another.  "The  Maharanee's 
minister,  av  coorse,"  sez  the  man.  "  Oho !  "  sez  I 
to  mysilf,  "I'm  a  quane  in  me  own  right,  wid  a 
minister  to  pay  me  expenses.  I'll  be  an  emperor 
if  I  lie  still  long  enough;  but  this  is  no  village 
I've  found."  I  lay  quiet,  but  I  gummed  me  right 
eye  to  a  crack  av  the  shutters,  an'  I  saw  that 
the  whole  street  was  crammed  wid  palanquins  an* 
horses,  an'  a  sprinklin'  av  naked  priests  all  yellow 
powder  an'  tigers'  tails.  But  I  may  tell  you,  Orth'- 
ris  an'  you,  Learoyd,  that  av  all  the  palanquins 
ours  was  the  most  imperial  an'  magnificent.  Now 
a  palanquin  means  a  native  lady  all  the  world 
over,  except  whin  a  soldier  av  the  quane  happens 
to  be  takin'  a  ride.  "  Women  an'  priests ! "  sez  I. 
"Your  father's  son  is  in  the  right  pew  this  time, 
Terence.  There  will  be  proceeding."  Six  black 
divils  in  pink  muslin  tuk  up  the  palanquin,  an' 
oh !  but  the  rowlin'  an'  the  rockin'  made  me  sick. 
Thin  we  got  fair  jammed  among  the  palanquins  — 
not  more  than  fifty  av  them  —  an'  we  grated  an' 
bumped  like  Queenstown  potato-smacks  in  a  run- 
nin'  tide.  I  cud  hear  the  women  gigglin'  and 


1 72  SOLDIER  STORIES 

squirkin'  in  their  palanquins,  but  mine  was  the 
royal  equipage.  They  made  way  for  ut,  an',  be- 
gad, the  pink  muslin  men  o'  mine  were  howlin', 
"  Room  for  the  Maharanee  av  Gokral-Seetarun." 
Do  you  know  aught  av  the  lady,  Sorr?' 

'  Yes/  said  I.  '  She  is  a  very  estimable  old  queen 
of  the  Central  Indian  States,  and  they  say  she  is  fat. 
How  on  earth  could  she  go  to  Benares  without  all 
the  city  knowing  her  palanquin  ? ' 

'  'Twas  the  eternal  foolishness  av  the  naygur-man. 
They  saw  the  palanquin  lying  loneful  an'  forlorn- 
some,  an'  the  beauty  av  ut,  after  Dearsley's  men  had 
dhropped  ut  and  gone  away,  an'  they  gave  ut  the 
best  name  that  occurred  to  thim.  Quite  right 
too.  For  aught  we  know  the  ould  lady  was 
thravellin'  incog — like  me.  I'm  glad  to  hear  she's 
fat.  I  was  no  light  weight  mysilf,  an'  my  men 
were  mortial  anxious  to  dhrop  me  under  a  great 
big  archway  promiscuously  ornamented  wid  the 
most  improper  carvin's  an'  cuttin's  I  iver  saw. 
Begad !  they  made  me  blush  —  like  a  —  like  a 
Maharanee.' 

'The  temple  of  Prithi-Devi,'  I  murmured,  remem- 
bering the  monstrous  horrors  of  that  sculptured 
archway  at  Benares. 

'  Pretty  Devilskins,  savin'  your  presence,  Sorr ! 
There  was  nothin'  pretty  about  ut,  except  me. 
'Twas  all  half  dhark,  an'  whin  the  coolies  left  they 


THE  INCARNATION  OF   KRISHNA  MULVANEY      173 

shut  a  big  black  gate  behind  av  us,  an'  half  a  com- 
pany av  fat  yellow  priests  began  pully-haulin'  the 
palanquins  into  a  dharker  place  yet  —  a  big  stone 
hall  full  av  pillars,  an'  gods,  an'  incense,  an'  all 
manner  av  similar  thruck.  The  gate  disconcerted 
me,  for  I  perceived  I  wud  have  to  go  forward  to  get 
out,  my  retreat  bein'  cut  off.  By  the  same  token 
a  good  priest  makes  a  bad  palanquin-coolie.  Begad ! 
they  nearly  turned  me  inside  out  draggin'  the 
palanquin  to  the  temple.  Now  the  disposishin  av 
the  forces  inside  was  this  way.  The  Maharanee  av 
Gokral-Seetarun  —  that  was  me  —  lay  by  the  favour 
av  Providence  on  the  far  left  flank  behind  the  dhark 
av  a  pillar  carved  with  elephmts'  heads.  The  re- 
mainder av  the  palanquins  was  in  a  big  half  circle 
facing  in  to  the  biggest,  fattest,  an'  most  amazin* 
she-god  that  iver  I  dreamed  av.  Her  head  ran  up 
into  the  black  above  us,  an'  her  feet  stuck  out  in  the 
light  av  a  little  fire  av  melted  butter  that  a  priest 
was  feedin'  out  av  a  butter-dish.  Thin  a  man  began 
to  sing  an'  play  on  somethin'  back  in  the  dhark,  an' 
'twas  a  queer  song.  Ut  made  my  hair  lift  on  the 
back  av  my  neck.  Thin  the  doors  av  all  the  palan- 
quins slid  back,  an'  the  women  bundled  out.  I  saw 
what  I'll  niver  see  again.  'Twas  more  glorious  than 
thransformations  at  a  pantomime,  for  they  was  in 
pink  an'  blue  an'  silver  an'  red  an'  grass  green,  wid 
dimonds  an'  imralds  an'  great  red  rubies  all  over 


174  SOLDIER  STORIES 

thim.  But  that  was  the  least  part  av  the  glory.  O 
bhoys,  they  were  more  lovely  than  the  like  av  any 
loveliness  in  hiven ;  ay,  their  little  bare  feet  were 
better  than  the  white  hands  av  a  lord's  lady,  an' 
their  mouths  were  like  puckered  roses,  an'  their  eyes 
were  bigger  an'  dharker  than  the  eyes  av  any 
livin'  women  I've  seen.  Ye  may  laugh,  but  I'm 
speakin'  truth.  I  niver  saw  the  like,  an'  niver  I  will 
again.' 

'  Seeing  that  in  all  probability  you  were  watching 
the  wives  and  daughters  of  most  of  the  kings  of 
India,  the  chances  are  that  you  won't,'  I  said,  for 
it  was  dawning  on  me  that  Mulvaney  had  stumbled 
upon  a  big  Queens'  Praying  at  Benares. 

'  I  niver  will,'  he  said  mournfully.  '  That  sight 
doesn't  come  twist  to  any  man.  It  made  me 
ashamed  to  watch.  A  fat  priest  knocked  at  my 
door.  I  didn't  think  he'd  have  the  insolince  to 
disturb  the  Maharanee  av  Gokral-Seetarun,  so  I 
lay  still.  "  The  old  cow's  asleep,"  sez  he  to  another. 
"  Let  her  be,"  sez  that  "  Twill  be  long  before  she 
has  a  calf !  "  I  might  ha'  known  before  he  spoke 
that  all  a  woman  prays  for  in  Injia  —  an'  for  matter 
o'  that  in  England  too  —  is  childher.  That  made  me 
more  sorry  I'd  come,  me  bein',  as  you  well  know, 
a  childless  man.' 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  thinking  of  his  little 
son,  dead  many  years  ago. 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY     175 

'They  prayed,  an'  the  butter-fires  blazed  up  an' 
the  incense  turned  everything  blue,  an'  between  that 
an'  the  fires  the  women  looked  as  tho'  they  were  all 
ablaze  an'  twinklin'.  They  took  hold  av  the  she- 
god's  knees,  they  cried  out  an'  they  threw  them- 
selves about,  an'  that  world-without-end-amen  music 
was  dhrivin'  thim  mad.  Mother  av  Hiven !  how 
they  cried,  an'  the  ould  she-god  grinnin'  above  thim 
all  so  scornful !  The  dhrink  was  dyin'  out  in  me 
fast,  an'  I  was  thinkin'  harder  than  the  thoughts 
wud  go  through  my  head  —  thinkin'  how  to  get  out, 
an'  all  manner  of  nonsense  as  well.  The  women 
were  rockin'  in  rows,  their  di'mond  belts  clickin', 
an'  the  tears  runnin'  out  betune  their  hands,  an'  the 
lights  were  goin'  lower  an'  dharker.  Thin  there 
was  a  blaze  like  lightnin'  from  the  roof,  an'  that 
showed  me  the  inside  av  the  palanquin,  an'  at  the 
end  where  my  foot  was,  stood  the  livin*  spit  an' 
image  o'  mysilf  worked  on  the  linin'.  This  man 
here,  ut  was.' 

He  hunted  in  the  folds  of  his  pink  cloak,  ran 
a  hand  under  one,  and  thrust  into  the  firelight  a 
foot-long  embroidered  presentment  of  the  great 
god  Krishna,  playing  on  a  flute.  The  heavy  jowl, 
the  staring  eye,  and  the  blue-black  moustache  of 
the  god  made  up  a  far-off  resemblance  to  Mul- 
vaney. 

'The  blaze  was  gone  in  a  wink,  but  the  whole 


176  SOLDIER  STORIES 

schame  came  to  me  thin.  I  believe  I  was  mad  too. 
I  slid  the  off-shutter  open  an'  rowled  out  into  the 
dhark  behind  the  elephint-head  pillar,  tucked  up  my 
trousies  to  my  knees,  slipped  off  my  boots  an'  tuk 
a  general  hould  av  all  the  pink  linin'  av  the  palan- 
quin. Glory  be,  ut  ripped  out  like  a  woman's  dhriss 
when  you  tread  on  ut  at  a  sergeants'  ball,  an'  a 
bottle  came  with  ut.  I  tuk  the  bottle  an'  the  next 
minut  I  was  out  av  the  dhark  av  the  pillar,  the  pink 
linin'  wrapped  round  me  most  graceful,  the  music 
thunderin'  like  kettledrums,  an'  a  could  draft  blowin' 
round  my  bare  legs.  By  this  hand  that  did  ut,  I 
was  Krishna  tootlin'  on  the  flute  —  the  god  that  the 
rig'mental  chaplain  talks  about.  A  sweet  sight  I 
must  ha'  looked.  I  knew  my  eyes  were  big,  and 
my  face  was  wax-white,  an'  at  the  worst  I  must  ha' 
looked  like  a  ghost.  But  they  took  me  for  the  livin' 
god.  The  music  stopped,  and  the  women  were 
dead  dumb,  an'  I  crooked  my  legs  like  a  shepherd 
on  a  china  basin,  an'  I  did  the  ghost-waggle  with 
my  feet  as  I  had  done  ut  at  the  rig'mental  theatre 
many  times,  an'  I  slid  acrost  the  width  av  that 
temple  in  front  av  the  she-god  tootlin'  on  the  beer 
bottle.' 

'Wot  did  you  toot?'  demanded  Ortheris  the 
practical. 

'  Me?    Oh  ! '    Mulvaney  sprang  up,  suiting  the  ac- 


I  was  Krishna  tootliu'  on  the  flute.' — P.  176. 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY     177 

don  to  the  word,  and  sliding  gravely  in  front  of  us, 
a  dilapidated  but  imposing  deity  in  the  half  light. 
'I  sang  — 

'Only  say 

You'll  be  Mrs.  Brallaghan. 
Don't  say  nay, 
Charmin1  Judy  Callaghan. 

I  didn't  know  me  own  voice  when  I  sang.  An'  oh ! 
'twas  pitiful  to  see  the  women.  The  darlin's  were 
down  on  their  faces.  Whin  I  passed  the  last  wan 
I  cud  see  her  poor  little  fingers  workin'  one  in 
another  as  if  she  wanted  to  touch  my  feet.  So  I 
dhrew  the  tail  av  this  pink  overcoat  over  her  head 
for  the  greater  honour,  an'  I  slid  into  the  dhark  on 
the  other  side  av  the  temple,  and  fetched  up  in  the 
arms  av  a  big  fat  priest.  All  I  wanted  was  to  get 
away  clear.  So  I  tuk  him  by  his  greasy  throat 
an'  shut  the  speech  out  av  him.  "  Out !  "  sez  I. 
"Which  way,  ye  fat  heathen  ?"  —  "  Oh !"  sez  he. 
"  Man,"  sez  I.  "  White  man,  soldier  man,  common 
soldier  man.  Where  in  the  name  av  confusion  is 
the  back  door  ? "  The  women  in  the  temple  were 
still  on  their  faces,  an'  a  young  priest  was  holdin' 
out  his  arms  above  their  heads. 

'"This  way,"  sez  my  fat  friend,  duckin'  behind 
a  big  bull-god  an'  divin'  into  a  passage.  Thin  I 
temimbered  that  I  must  ha'  made  the  miraculous 


178  SOLDIER  STORIES 

reputation  av  that  temple  for  the  next  fifty  years. 
"  Not  so  fast,"  I  sez,  an'  I  held  out  both  my  hands 
wid  a  wink.  That  ould  thief  smiled  like  a  father. 
I  tuk  him  by  the  back  av  the  neck  in  case  he  should 
be  wishful  to  put  a  knife  into  me  unbeknowst,  an'  I 
ran  him  up  an'  down  the  passage  twice  to  collect  his 
sensibilities !  "  Be  quiet,"  sez  he,  in  English.  "  Now 
you  talk  sense,"  I  sez.  "  Fwhat'll  you  give  me  for 
the  use  av  that  most  iligant  palanquin  I  have  no 
time  to  take  away  ? "  —  "  Don't  tell,"  sez  he.  "  Is  ut 
like  ? "  sez  I.  "  But  ye  might  give  me  my  railway 
fare.  I'm  far  from  my  home  an'  I've  done  you  a 
service."  Bhoys,  'tis  a  good  thing  to  be  a  priest. 
The  ould  man  niver  throubled  himself  to  dhraw 
from  a  bank.  As  I  will  prove  to  you  subsequint,  he 
philandered  all  round  the  slack  av  his  clothes  an* 
began  dribblin'  ten-rupee  notes,  old  gold  mohurs, 
and  rupees  into  my  hand  till  I  could  hould  no 
more.' 

'  You  lie ! '  said  Ortheris.  '  You're  mad  or  sun- 
strook.  A  native  don't  give  coin  unless  you  cut  it 
out  o'  'im.  'Tain't  nature.' 

'  Then  my  lie  an'  my  sunstroke  is  concealed  under 
that  lump  av  sod  yonder,'  retorted  Mulvaney  un- 
ruffled, nodding  across  the  scrub.  'An'  there's  a 
dale  more  in  nature  than  your  squidgy  little  legs 
have  iver  taken  you  to,  Orth'ris,  me  son.  Four 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY      179 

hundred  an'  thirty-four  rupees  by  my  reckoning  ati 
a  big  fat  gold  necklace  that  I  took  from  him  as  a 
remimbrancer,  was  our  share  in  that  business.' 

'An'  'e  give  it  you  for  love?'  said  Ortheris. 

'We  were  alone  in  that  passage.  Maybe  I  was 
a  trifle  too  pressin',  but  considher  fwhat  I  had  done 
for  the  good  av  the  temple  and  the  iverlastin'  joy 
av  those  women.  'Twas  cheap  at  the  price.  I  wud 
ha'  taken  more  if  I  cud  ha'  found  ut.  I  turned  the 
ould  man  upside  down  at  the  last,  but  he  was  milked 
dhry.  Thin  he  opened  a  door  in  another  passage 
an'  I  found  mysilf  up  to  my  knees  in  Benares  river- 
water,  an'  bad  smellin'  ut  is.  More  by  token  I  had 
come  out  on  the  river-line  close  to  the  burnin'  ghat 
and  contagious  to  a  cracklin'  corpse.  This  was  HI 
the  heart  av  the  night,  for  I  had  been  four  hours  in 
the  temple.  There  was  a  crowd  av  boats  tied  up, 
so  I  tuk  wan  an'  wint  across  the  river.  Thin  I 
came  home  acrost  country,  lyin'  up  by  day." 

'  How  on  earth  did  you  manage  ? '  I  said. 

'  How  did  Sir  Frederick  Roberts  get  from  Cabul 
to  Candahar  ?  He  marched  an'  he  niver  tould  how 
near  he  was  to  breakin'  down.  Thac's  why  he  is 
fwhat  he  is.  An'  now '  Mulvaney  yawned  por- 
tentously. '  Now  I  will  go  an'  give  myself  up  for  ab- 
since  widout  leave.  It's  eight-an'-twenty  days  an'  the 
rough  end  of  the  Colonel's  tongue  in  orderly-room, 


l8o  SOLDIER  STORIES 

any  way  you   look  at  lit.     But  'tis  cheap   at  th* 


'  Mulvaney,'  said  I  softly.  '  If  there  happens  to 
be  any  sort  of  excuse  that  the  Colonel  can  in  any 
way  accept,  I  have  a  notion  that  you'll  get  nothing 
more  than  the  dressing-down.  The  new  recruits 
are  in,  and  -  ' 

'  Not  a  word  more,  Sorr.  Is  ut  excuses  the  old 
man  wants?  'Tis  not  my  way,  but  he  shall  have 
thim.  I'll  tell  him  I  was  engaged  in  financial  opera- 
tions connected  wid  a  church,'  and  he  flapped  his 
way  to  cantonments  and  the  cells,  singing  lustily:  — 

'  So  they  sent  a  corp'ril's  file, 
And  they  put  me  in  the  gyard-room 
For  conduck  unbecomin'  of  a  soldier.1 

And  when  he  was  lost  in  the  mist  of  the  moonlight 
we  could  hear  the  refrain:  — 

'  Bang  upon  the  big  drum,  bash  upon  the  cymbals, 
As  we  go  marchin'  along,  boys,  oh  ! 
For  although  in  this  campaign 
There's  no  whisky  nor  champagne, 
Well  keep  our  spirits  goin'  with  a  song,  boys*' 

Therewith  he  surrendered  himself  to  the  joyful 
and  almost  weeping  guard,  and  was  made  much  of 
by  his  fellows.  But  to  the  Colonel  he  said  that  he 
had  been  smitten  with  sunstroke  and  had  lain  in- 


THE  INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY     181 

sensible  on  a  villager's  cot  for  untold  hours;  and 
between  laughter  and  good-will  the  affair  was 
jmoothed  over,  so  that  he  could,  next  day,  teach 
:he  new  recruits  how  to  '  Fear  God,  Honour  the 
Queen,  Shoot  Straight,  and  Keep  Clean.' 


THE  TAKING  OF   LUNGTUNGPEN 

So  we  loosed  a  bloomin1  volley, 
An'  we  made  the  beggars  cut, 
An*  when  our  pouch  was  emptied  out, 
We  uied  the  bloomin'  butt, 
Ho!     My! 

Don't  yer  come  anigh, 

When  Tommy  is  a  playin'  with  the  baynit  an"  the  butt. 
Barrack  Room  Ballad. 

MY  friend  Private  Mulvaney  told  me  this,  sitting  on 
the  parapet  of  the  road  to  Dagshai,  when  we  were 
hunting  butterflies  together.  He  had  theories  about 
the  Army,  and  coloured  clay  pipes  perfectly.  He 
said  that  the  young  soldier  is  the  best  to  work  with, '  on 
account  av  the  surpassing  innocinse  av  the  child.' 

'  Now,  listen  ! '  said  Mulvaney,  throwing  himself 
full  length  on  the  wall  in  the  sun.  '  I'm  a  born 
scutt  av  the  barrick-room !  The  Army's  mate  an' 
dhrink  to  me,  bekaze  I'm  wan  av  the  few  that  can't 
quit  ut.  I've  put  in  sivinteen  years,  an'  the  pipe- 
clay's in  the  marrow  av  me.  Av  I  cud  have  kept 
out  av  wan  big  dhrink  a  month,  I  wud  have  been  a 

182 


THE  TAKING  OF  LUNGTUNGPEN  183 

Hon'ry  Lift'nint  by  this  time  —  a  nuisince  to  my 
betthers,  a  laughin'-shtock  to  my  equils,  an'  a  curse 
to  meself.  Bein'  fwhat  I  am,  I'm  Privit  Mulvaney, 
wid  no  good-conduc'  pay  an'  a  devourin'  thirst. 
Always  barrin'  me  little  frind  Bobs  Bahadur,  I  know 
as  much  about  the  Army  as  most  men.' 

I  said  something  here. 

'Wolseley  be  shot!  Betune  you  an'  me  an'  that 
butterfly  net,  he's  a  ramblin',  incoherint  sort  av  a 
divil,  wid  wan  oi  on  the  Quane  an'  the  Coort,  an'  the 
other  on  his  blessed  silf  —  everlastin'ly  playing  Say- 
sar  an'  Alexandrier  rowled  into  a  lump.  Now  Bobs 
is  a  sensible  little  man.  Wid  Bobs  an'  a  few  three- 
year-olds,  I'd  sv:ape  any  army  av  the  earth  into  a 
towel,  an'  throw  it  away  aftherwards.  Faith,  I'm 
not  jokin' !  Tis  the  bhoys  —  the  raw  bhoys — that 
don't  know  fwhat  a  bullut  manes,  an'  wudn't  care  av 
they  did  —  that  dhu  the  work.  They're  crammed 
wid  bull-mate  till  they  fairly  ramps  wid  good  livin' ; 
and  thin,  av  they  don't  fight,  they  blow  each  other's 
hids  off.  'Tis  the  trut'  I'm  tellin'  you.  They  shud 
be  kept  on  water  an'  rice  in  the  hot  weather;  but 
there'd  be  a  mut'ny  av  'twas  done. 

'  Did  ye  iver  hear  how  Privit  Mulvaney  tuk  the 
town  av  Lungtungpen  ?  I  thought  not !  'Twas  the 
Lift'nint  got  the  credit;  but  'twas  me  planned  the 
schame.  A  little  before  I  was  inviladed  from 
£urma,  me  an'  four-an'-twenty  young  wans  undher  a 


1 84  SOLDIER  STORIES 

Lift'nint  Brazenose  was  ruinin'  our  dijeshins  thryin' 
to  catch  dacoits.  An*  such  double-ended  divils  I 
niver  knew !  'Tis  only  a  dah  an'  a  Snider  that 
makes  a  dacoit.  Widout  thim,  he's  a  paceful  culti- 
vator, an'  felony  for  to  shoot.  We  hunted,  an'  we 
hunted,  an'  tuk  fever  an'  elephints  now  an'  again; 
but  no  dacoits.  Evenshually,  we  puckarowed  wan 
man.  "Trate  him  tinderly,"  sez  the  Lift'nint.  So 
I  tuk  him  away  into  the  jungle,  wid  the  Burmese 
Interprut'r  an'  my  clanin'-rod.  Sez  I  to  the  man, 
"  My  paceful  squireen,"  sez  I,  "  you  shquot  on  your 
hunkers  an'  dimonstrate  to  my  f  rind  here,  where  you? 
frinds  are  whin  they're  at  home  ? "  Wid  that  I  intro- 
juced  him  to  the  clanin'-rod,  an'  he  comminst  to 
jabber;  the  Interprut'r  interprutin'  in  betweens,  an* 
me  helpin'  the  Intilligince  Departmint  wid  my 
clanin'-rod  whin  the  man  misremimbered. 

'  Prisintly,  I  learn  that,  acrost  the  river,  about 
nine  miles  away,  was  a  town  just  dhrippin'  wid  dahs, 
an'  bohs  an'  arrows,  an'  dacoits,  an'  elephints,  an'  jin- 
gles. "  Good !  "  sez  I ;  "  this  office  will  now  close !  " 

'That  night,  I  went  to  the  Lift'nint  an'  commu- 
nicates my  information.  I  never  thought  much  of 
Lift'nint  Brazenose  till  that  night.  He  was  shtiff 
wid  books  an'  the-ouries,  an'  all  manner  av  thrim- 
min's  no  manner  av  use.  "  Town  did  ye  say  ? "  sez 
he.  "  Accordin'  to  the-ouries  av  War,  we  shud  wait 
for  reinforcemints."  —  "Faith!"  thinks  I,  "we'd 


'"Shtrip,  bhoys,"  sez  I.     "  Shtrip  to  the  huff,  an'  shwim  in  where 
glory  waits !  "'  —  p.  185. 


THE  TAKING  OF  LUNGTUNGPEN  185 

betther  dig  our  graves  thin  "  ;  for  the  nearest  throops 
was  up  to  their  shtocks  in  the  marshes  out  Mimbu 
way.  "  But,"  says  the  Lift'nint,  "since  'tis  a  speshil 
case,  I'll  make  an  excepshin.  We'll  visit  this  Lung- 
tungpen  to-night." 

'  The  bhoys  was  fairly  woild  wid  deloight  whin  I 
tould  'em;  an',  by  this  an'  that,  they  wint  through 
the  jungle  like  buck-rabbits.  About  midnight  we 
come  to  the  shtrame  which  I  had  clane  forgot  to 
minshin  to  my  orficer.  I  was  on,  ahead,  wid  four 
bhoys,  an'  I  thought  that  the  Lift'nint  might  want 
to  the-ourise.  "  Shtrip,  bhoys,"  sez  I.  "  Shtrip  to 
the  buff,  an'  shwim  in  where  glory  waits  !  "  —  "  But  I 
cant  shwim  !  "  sez  two  av  thim.  "  To  think  I  should 
live  to  hear  that  from  a  bhoy  wid  a  board-school  edu- 
kashin ! "  sez  I.  "Take  a  lump  av  thimber,  an'  me 
an'  Conolly  here  will  ferry  ye  over,  ye  young  ladies !  " 

'We  got  an  ould  tree-trunk,  an'  pushed  off  wid 
the  kits  an'  the  rifles  on  it.  The  night  was  chokin' 
dhark,  an'  just  as  we  was  fairly  embarked,  I  heard  the 
Lift'nint  behind  av  me  callin'  out.  There's  a  bit  av  a 
nullah  here,  Sorr,"  sez  I,  "  but  I  can  feel  the  bottom  al- 
ready." So  I  cud,  for  I  was  not  a  yard  from  the  bank. 

'  "  Bit  av  a  nullah!  Bit  av  an  eshtuary  !  "  sez  the 
Lift'nint.  "  Go  on,  ye  mad  Irishman !  Shtrip, 
bhoys ! "  I  heard  him  laugh ;  an'  the  bhoys  began 
shtrippin'  an'  rollin'  a  log  into  the  wather  to  put 
their  kits  on.  So  me  an'  Conolly  shtruck  out  through 


1 86  SOLDIER  STORIES 

the  warm  wather  wid  our  log,  an'  the  rest  come  on 
behind. 

'  That  shtrame  was  miles  woide !  Orth'ris,  on 
the  rear-rank  log,  whispers  we  had  got  into  the 
Thames  below  Sheerness  by  mistake.  "Kape  on 
shwimmin',  ye  little  blayguard,"  sez  I,  "an*  don't  go 
pokin'  your  dirty  jokes  at  the  Irriwaddy."  —  "  Silince, 
men!"  sings  out  the  Lift'nint.  So  we  shwum  on  into 
the  black  dhark,  wid  our  chests  on  the  logs,  trustin' 
in  the  Saints  an'  the  luck  av  the  British  Army. 

'  Evenshually,  we  hit  ground  —  a  bit  av  sand  —  an' 
a  man.  I  put  my  heel  on  the  back  av  him.  He 
•kreeched  an'  ran. 

'"Now  we've  done  it!"  sez  Lift'nint  Brazenose. 
"Where  the  Divil  is  Lungtungpen ? "  There  was 
about  a  minute  and  a  half  to  wait.  The  bhoys  laid 
-  hould  av  their  rifles  an'  some  thried  to  put  their 
belts  on ;  we  was  marchin'  wid  fixed  baynits  av 
coorse.  Thin  we  knew  where  Lungtungpen  was ;  for 
we  had  hit  the  river-wall  av  it  in  the  dhark,  an'  the 
Whole  town  blazed  wid  thim  messin' jingles  an'  Sniders 
like  a  cat's  back  on  a  frosty  night.  They  was  firm' 
ill  ways  at  wanst;  but  over  our  hids  into  the  shtrame. 

' "  Have  you  got  your  rifles  ? "  sez  Brazenose. 
"  Got  'em !  "  sez  Orth'ris.  "  I've  got  that  thief  Mul- 
vaney's  for  all  my  back-pay,  an'  she'll  kick  my  heart 
sick  wid  that  blunderin'  long  shtock  av  hers." —  "  Go 
on ! "  yells  Brazenose,  whippin'  his  sword  out.  "  Go 


'There  was  a  metty  av  a  sumpshus  kind  for  a  \\hoile.'  —  p.  187. 


THE  TAKING  OF  LUNGTUNGPEN  187 

on  an'  take  the  town  !  An'  the  Lord  have  mercy  on 
our  sowls! " 

'Thin  the  bhoys  gave  wan  divastatin'  howl,  an' 
pranced  into  the  dhark,  feelin'  for  the  town,  an' 
blindin'  an'  stiffin'  like  Cavalry  Ridin'  Masters  whin 
the  grass  pricked  their  bare  legs.  I  hammered  wid 
the  butt  at  some  bamboo-thing  that  felt  wake,  an' 
the  rest  come  an'  hammered  contagious,  while  the 
jingles  was  jingling,  an'  feroshus  yells  from  inside 
was  shplittin'  our  ears.  We  was  too  close  under  the 
wall  for  thim  to  hurt  us. 

'  Evenshually,  the  thing,  whatever  ut  was,  bruk  ; 
an'  the  six-and-twinty  av  us  tumbled,  wan  after  the 
other,  naked  as  we  was  borrun,  into  the  town  of 
Lungtungpen.  There  was  a  melly  av  a  sumpshus 
kind  for  a  whoile ;  but  whether  they  tuk  us,  all  white 
an'  wet,  for  a  new  breed  av  divil,  or  a  new  kind  av 
dacoit,  I  don't  know.  They  ran  as  though  we  was 
both,  an'  we  wint  into  thim,  baynit  an'  butt,  shriekin' 
(wid  laughin'.  There  was  torches  in  the  shtreets,  an' 
I  saw  little  Orth'ris  rubbin"  his  showlther  ivry  time 
he  loosed  my  long-shtock  Martini;  an'  Brazenose 
walkin'  into  the  gang  wid  his  sword,  like  Diarmid  av 
the  Gowlden  Collar  —  barring  he  hadn't  a  stitch  av 
clothin'  on  him.  We  diskivered  elephints  wid 
dacoits  under  their  bellies,  an',  what  wid  wan  thing 
an'  another,  we  was  busy  till  mornin'  takin'  posses- 
sion av  the  town  of  Lungtungpen. 


r 
1 88  SOLDIER  STORIES 

'  Thin  we  halted  an'  formed  up,  the  wiramen 
howlin'  in  the  houses  an'  Lift'nint  Brazenose  blushin* 
pink  in  the  light  av  the  mornin'  sun.  'Twas  the 
most  ondasint  p'rade  I  iver  tuk  a  hand  in.  Foive- 
and-twenty  privits  an'  an  orficer  av  the  Line  in 
review  ordher,  an'  not  as  much  as  wud  dust  a  fife 
betune  'em  all  in  the  way  of  clothin' !  Eight  av  us 
had  their  belts  an'  pouches  on ;  but  the  rest  had 
gone  in  wid  a  handful  av  cartridges  an'  the  skin 
God  gave  thim.  They  was  as  nakid  as  Vanus. 

'  "  Number  off  from  the  right !  "  sez  the  Lift'nint. 
"  Odd  numbers  fall  out  to  dress ;  even  numbers 
pathrol  the  town  till  relieved  by  the  dressing  party." 
Let  me  tell  you,  pathrollin'  a  town  wid  nothing  on  is 
an  ex/tejrience.  I  pathrolled  for  tin  minutes,  an' 
begad,  before  'twas  over,  I  blushed.  The  women 
laughed  so.  I  niver  blushed  before  or  since  ;  but  I 
blushed  all  over  my  carkiss  thin.  Orth'ris  didn't 
pathrol.  He  sez  only,  "  Portsmith  Barricks  an'  the 
'Aard  av  a  Sunday ! "  Thin  he  lay  down  an'  rowled 
any  ways  wid  laughin'. 

'  Whin  we  was  all  dhressed,  we  counted  the  dead 
—  sivinty-foive  dacoits  besides  wounded.  We  tuk 
five  elephints,  a  hunder'  an'  sivinty  Sniders,  two 
hunder'  dahs,  and  a  lot  av  other  burglarious  thruck. 
Not  a  man  av  us  was  hurt  —  excep'  maybe  the 
Lift'nint,  an*  he  from  the  shock  to  his  dasincy. 

'  The  Headman  av  Lungtungpen,  who  surrinder'd 


THE  TAKING  OF  LUNGTUNGPEN  189 

himself,  asked  the  Interprut'r  —  "Av  the  English 
fight  like  that  wid  their  clo'es  off,  what  in  the  wurruld 
do  they  do  wid  their  clo'es  on?"  Orth'ris  began 
rowlin'  his  eyes  an'  crackin'  his  fingers  an'  dancin'  a 
step-dance  for  to  impress  the  Headman.  He  ran  to 
his  house ;  an'  we  spint  the  rest  av  the  day  carryin' 
the  Lift'nint  on  our  showlthers  round  the  town,  an' 
playin'  wid  the  Burmese  babies  —  fat,  little,  brown 
little  divils,  as  pretty  as  picturs. 

'  Whin  I  was  inviladed  for  the  dysent'ry  to  India, 
I  sez  to  the  Lift'nint,  "  Sorr,"  sez  I,  "  you've  the 
makin's  in  you  av  a  great  man  ;  but,  av  you'll  let  an 
ould  sodger  spake,  you're  too  fond  of  the-ourisin'." 
He  shuk  hands  wid  me  and  sez,  "Hit  high,  hit  low, 
there's  no  plasm'  you,  Mulvaney.  You've  seen  me 
waltzin'  through  Lungtungpen  like  a  Red  Injin  wid- 
out  the  war-paint,  an'  you  say  I'm  too  fond  av  the- 
urisin'  ?  "—  "  Sorr,"  sez  I,  for  I  loved  the  bhoy  ;  "  I 
.vud  waltz  wid  you  in  that  condishin  through  Hell, 
an*  so  wud  the  rest  av  the  men !  "  Thin  I  wint 
downshtrame  in  the  flat  an'  left  him  my  blessin'. 
May  the  Saints  carry  ut  where  ut  should  go,  for  he 
was  a  fine  upstandin'  young  orficer. 

'To  reshume.  Fwhat  I've  said  jist  shows  the 
use  av  three-year-olds.  Wud  fifty  seasoned  sodgers 
have  taken  Lungtungpen  in  the  dhark  that  way  ? 
No !  They'd  know  the  risk  av  fever  and  chill.  Let 
alone  the  shootin1.  Two  hundher'  might  have  done  ut 


190 


SOLDIER  STORIES 


But  the  three-year-olds  know  little  an'  care  less ;  an' 
*  here  there's  no  fear,  there's  no  danger.  Catch  thim 
joung,  feed  thim  high,  an'  by  the  honour  av  that 
great  little  man  Bobs,  behind  a  good  orficer  'tisn't 
only  dacoits  they'd  smash  wid  their  clo'es  off — 'tis 
Con-ti-nental  Ar-r-r-mies !  They  tuk  Lungtungpen 
nakid ;  an'  they'd  take  St.  Pethersburg  in  their 
dhrawers  !  Begad,  they  would  that ! 

'  Here's  your  pipe,  Sorr.  Shmoke  her  tinderly 
wid  honey-dew,  afther  letting  the  reek  av  the  Can- 
teen plug  die  away.  But  'tis  no  good,  thanks  to 
you  all  the  same,  fillin'  my  pouch  wid  your 
chopped  hay.  Canteen  baccy's  like  the  Army. 
It  shpoils  a  man's  taste  for  moilder  things.' 

So  saying,  Mulvaney  took  up  his  butterfly-net, 
and  returned  to  barracks. 


THE    MADNESS   OF   PRIVATE    ORTHERIS 

Oh !  Where  would  I  be  when  my  froat  was  dry  ? 
Oh !  Where  would  I  be  when  the  bullets  fly? 
Oh !  Where  would  I  be  when  I  come  to  die? 

Why, 
Somewheres  anigh  my  chum. 

If  'e's  liquor  'e'll  give  me  some, 

If  I'm  dyin'  'e'll  'old  my  'ead, 

An'  'e'll  write  'em  'Ome  when  I'm  dead.— 

Gawd  send  us  a  trusty  chum ! 

Barrack  Room  Ballad. 

MY  friends  Mulvaney  and  Ortheris  had  gone  on  a 
shooting  expedition  for  one  day.  Learoyd  was 
still  in  hospital,  recovering  from  fever  picked  up 
in  Burma.  They  sent  me  an  invitation  to  join 
them,  and  were  genuinely  pained  when  I  brought 
beer  —  almost  enough  beer  to  satisfy  two  Privates 
of  the  Line  —  and  Me. 

'Twasn't  for  that  we  bid  you  welkim,  Sorr,' 
said  Mulvaney  sulkily.  ''Twas  for  the  pleasure 
av  your  comp'ny.' 

Ortheris    came    to    the    rescue   with  — '  Well,   'c 


192  SOLDIER  STORIES 

won't  be  none  the  worse  for  bringin'  liquor  with 
'im.  We  ain't  a  file  o'  Books.  We're  bloomin' 
Tommies,  ye  cantankris  Hirishman ;  an'  'ere's  your 
very  good  'ealth  ! ' 

We  shot  all  the  forenoon,  and  killed  two  pariah- 
dogs,  four  green  parrots,  sitting,  one  kite  by  the 
burning-ghaut,  one  snake  flying,  one  mud-turtle,  and 
eight  crows.  Game  was  plentiful.  Then  we  sat 
down  to  tiffin — 'bull-mate  an'  bran  bread,'  Mul- 
vaney  called  it  —  by  the  side  of  the  river,  and  took 
pot  shots  at  the  crocodiles  in  the  intervals  of  cut- 
ting up  the  food  with  our  only  pocket-knife.  Then 
we  drank  up  all  the  beer,  and  threw  the  bottles 
into  the  water  and  fired  at  them.  After  that,  we 
eased  belts  and  stretched  ourselves  on  the  warm 
sand  and  smoked.  We  were  too  lazy  to  continue 
shooting. 

Ortheris  heaved  a  big  sigh,  as  he  lay  on  his 
vtomach  with  his  head  between  his  fists.  Then  he 
swore  quietly  into  the  blue  sky. 

'Fwhat's  that  for?'  said  Mulvaney.  'Have  ye 
not  drunk  enough  ? ' 

'Tott'nim  Court  Road,  an'  a  gal  I  fancied  there. 
Wot's  the  good  of  sodgerin'  ? ' 

'Orth'ris,  me  son,'  said  Mulvaney  hastily,  ''tis 
more  than  likely  you've  got  throuble  in  your  inside 
wid  the  beer.  I  feel  that  way  mesilf  whin  my  liver 
gets  rusty.' 


Ortheris  heaved  a  big  sigh. — P.  192. 


THE   MADNESS   OF   PRIVATE  uRTHERIS  193 

Ortheris  went  on  slowly,  not  heeding  the  inter- 
ruption :  — 

'I'm  a  Tommy  —  a  bloomin',  eight-anna,  dog- 
stealin'  Tommy,  with  a  number  instead  of  a  decent 
name.  Wot's  the  good  o'  me?  If  I  'ad  a  stayed 
at  'Ome,  I  might  a  married  that  gal  and  a  kep'  a 
little  shorp  in  the  'Ammersmith  'Igh.  —  "  S.  Orth'ris, 
Prac-ti-cal  Taxi-der-mist."  With  a  stuff'  fox,  like 
they  'as  in  the  Haylesbury  Dairies,  in  the  winder, 
an'  a  little  case  of  blue  and  yaller  glass-heyes,  an' 
a  little  wife  to  call  "shorp!"  "shorp!"  when  the 
door-bell  rung.  As  it  his,  I'm  on'y  a  Tommy  — 
a  Bloomin'  Gawd-forsaken  Beer-swillin'  Tommy. 
"Rest  on  your  harms  —  'versed.  Stan'  at  —  hease ; 
'shun.  'Verse  —  harms.  Right  an'  lef '  —  tarrn. 
Slow  —  march.  'Alt — front.  Rest  on  your  harms 
—  'versed.  With  blank-cartridge — load."  An'  that's 
the  end  o'  me.'  He  was  quoting  fragments  from 
Funeral  Parties'  Orders. 

'  Stop  ut ! '  shouted  Mulvaney.  '  Whin  you've 
fired  into  nothin'  as  often  as  me,  over  a  better  man 
than  yoursilf,  you  will  not  make  a  mock  av  thim 
orders.  'Tis  worse  than  whistlin'  the  Dead  March 
in  barricks.  An'  you  full  as  a  tick,  an'  the  sun 
cool,  an*  all  an'  all !  I  take  shame  for  you.  You're 
no  better  than  a  Pagin  —  you  an'  your  firin'-parties 
an'  your  glass-eyes.  Won't  you  stop  ut,  Sorr  ? ' 

What   could    I    do?     Could   I    tell    Ortheris   any. 


194  SOLDIER  STORIES 

thing  that  he  did  not  know  of  the  pleasures  of  his 
life  ?  I  was  not  a  Chaplain  nor  a  Subaltern,  and 
Ortheris  had  a  right  to  speak  as  he  thought  fit. 

'  Let  him  run,  Mulvaney,'  I  said.     '  It's  the  beer.' 

'  No !  Tisn't  the  beer,'  said  Mulvaney.  '  I  know 
fwhat's  comin'.  He's  tuk  this  way  now  an'  agin, 
an'  it's  bad  —  it's  bad  —  for  I'm  fond  av  the  bhoy.' 

Indeed,  Mulvaney  seemed  needlessly  anxious; 
but  I  knew  that  he  looked  after  Ortheris  in  a 
fatherly  way. 

'  Let  me  talk,  let  me  talk,'  said  Ortheris  dreamily. 
'  D'you  stop  your  parrit  screamin'  of  a  'ot  day 
when  the  cage  is  a-cookin*  'is  pore  little  pink  toes 
orf,  Mulvaney  ? ' 

'  Pink  toes !  D'ye  mane  to  say  you've  pink  toes 
undher  your  bullswools,  ye  blandanderin','  —  Mul- 
vaney gathered  himself  together  for  a  terrific  de- 
nunciation— ' school-misthress !  Pink  toes!  How 
much  Bass  wid  the  label  did  that  ravin*  child 
dhrink?' 

'  Tain't  Bass,'  said  Ortheris.  '  It's  a  bitterer  beer 
nor  that.  It's  'ome-sickness ! ' 

'  Hark  to  him !  An'  he  goin'  Home  in  the  Shera- 
pis  in  the  inside  av  four  months ! ' 

'  I  don't  care.  It's  all  one  to  me.  'Ow  d'you 
know  I  ain't  'fraid  o'  dyin'  'fore  I  gets  my  discharge 
paipers  ? '  He  recommenced,  in  a  sing-song  voice, 
the  Orders. 


THE  MADNESS  OF  PRIVATE  ORTHERIS  195 

I  had  never  seen  this  side  of  Ortheris's  character 
before,  but  evidently  Mulvaney  had,  and  attached 
serious  importance  to  it.  While  Ortheris  babbled, 
with  his  head  on  his  arms,  Mulvaney  whispered  to 
me :  — 

'  He's  always  tuk  this  way  whin  he's  been  checked 
overmuch  by  the  childher  they  make  Sarjints  nowa- 
days. That  an'  havin'  nothin'  to  do.  I  can't  make 
ut  out  anyways.' 

'Well,  what  does  it  matter?  Let  him  talk  him- 
self through.' 

Ortheris  began  singing  a  parody  of  The  Ramrod 
Corps,  full  of  cheerful  allusions  to  battle,  murder, 
and  sudden  death.  He  looked  out  across  the  river 
as  he  sang ;  and  his  face  was  quite  strange  t ' 
me.  Mulvaney  caught  me  by  the  elbow  to  ensure 
attention. 

'Matther?  It  matthers  everything!  Tis  some 
sort  av  fit  that's  on  him.  I've  seen  ut.  'Twill  hould 
him  all  this  night,  an'  in  the  middle  av  it  he'll  get 
out  av  his  cot  an'  go  rakin'  in  the  rack  for  his 
'courtremints.  Thin  he'll  come  over  to  me  an'  say, 
"I'm  goin'  to  Bombay.  Answer  for  me  in  the 
mornin'."  Thin  me  an'  him  will  fight  as  we've  done 
before  —  him  to  go  an*  me  to  hould  him  —  an*  so 
we'll  both  come  on  the  books  for  disturbin"  in 
barricks.  I've  belted  him,  an'  I've  bruk  his  head, 
an'  I've  talked  to  him,  but  'tis  no  manner  av  use 


196  SOLDIER  STORIES 

whin  the  fit's  on  him.  He's  as  good  a  bhoy  as 
ever  stepped  whin  his  mind's  clear.  I  know  fwhat's 
comin',  though,  this  night  in  barricks.  Lord  send 
he  doesn't  loose  on  me  whin  I  rise  to  knock  him 
down.  Tis  that  that's  in  my  mind  day  an'  night.' 

This  put  the  case  in  a  much  less  pleasant  light, 
and  fully  accounted  for  Mulvaney's  anxiety.  He 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  coax  Ortheris  out  of  the  fit ; 
for  he  shouted  down  the  bank  where  the  boy  was 
lying :  — 

'  Listen  now,  you  wid  the  "  pore  pink  toes "  an' 
the  glass-eyes!  Did  you  shwim  the  Irriwaddy  at 
night,  behin'  me,  as  a  bhoy  shud;  or  were  you 
hidin'  under  a  bed,  as  you  was  at  Ahmid  Kheyl  ? ' 

This  was  at  once  a  gross  insult  and  a  direct  lie, 
and  Mulvaney  meant  it  to  bring  on  a  fight.  But 
Ortheris  seemed  shut  up  in  some  sort  of  trance. 
He  answered  slowly,  without  a  sign  of  irritation,  in 
the  same  cadenced  voice  as  he  had  used  for  his 
firing-party  orders :  — 

*  Hi  swum  the  Irriwaddy  in  the  night,  as  you 
know,  for  to  take  the  town  of  Lungtungpen,  nakid 
an'  without  fear.  Hand  where  I  was  at  Ahmed 
Kheyl  you  know,  and  four  bloomin'  Paythans  know 
too.  But  that  was  summat  to  do,  an'  I  didn't  think 
o*  dyin'.  Now  I'm  sick  to  go  'Ome — go  'Ome  — 
go  'Ome !  No,  I  ain't  mammysick,  because  my 
uncle  brung  me  up,  but  I'm  sick  for  London  again ; 


THE  MADNESS  OF  PRIVATE  ORTHERIS  197 

sick  for  the  sounds  of  'er,  an'  the  sights  of  'er,  and 
the  stinks  of  'er ;  orange-peel  and  hasphalte  an' 
gas  comin'  in  over  Vaux'all  Bridge.  Sick  for  the 
rail  goin'  down  to  Box  '111,  with  your  gal  on  your 
knee  an'  a  new  clay  pipe  in  your  face.  That,  an' 
the  Stran'  lights  where  you  knows  ev'ry  one,  an' 
the  Copper  that  takes  you  up  is  a  old  friend  that 
tuk  you  up  before,  when  you  was  a  little,  smitchy 
boy  lying  loose  'tween  the  Temple  an'  the  Dark 
Harches.  No  bloomin'  guard-mountin',  no  bloomin' 
rotten-stone,  nor  khaki,  an'  yourself  your  own  mas- 
ter with  a  gal  to  take  an'  see  the  Humaners  prac- 
tisin'  a-hookin'  dead  corpses  out  of  the  Serpentine 
o'  Sundays.  An'  I  lef  aft  that  for  to  serve  the 
Widder  beyond  the  seas,  where  there  ain't  no 
women  and  there  ain't  no  liquor  worth  'avin',  and 
there  ain't  nothin'  to  see,  nor  do,  nor  say,  nor  feel, 
nor  think.  Lord  love  you,  Stanley  Orth'ris,  but 
you're  a  bigger  bloomin'  fool  than  the  rest  o'  the 
reg'ment  and  Mulvaney  wired  together!  There's 
the  Widder  sittin'  at  'Ome  with  a  gold  crownd  on 
'er  'ead ;  and  'ere  am  Hi,  Stanley  Orth'ris,  the 
Widder' s  property,  a  rottin'  FOOL  ! ' 

His  voice  rose  at  the  end  of  the  sentence,  and  he 
wound  up  with  a  six-shot  Anglo- Vernacular  oath. 
Mulvaney  said  nothing,  but  looked  at  me  as  if  he 
expected  that  I  could  bring  peace  to  poor  Ortheris'? 
troubled  brain. 


19*  SOLDIER  STORIES 

I  remembered  once  at  Rawal  Pindi  having  seen 
a  man,  nearly  mad  with  drink,  sobered  by  being 
made  a  fool  of.  Some  regiments  may  know  what 
I  mean.  I  hoped  that  we  might  slake  off  Ortheris 
in  the  same  way,  though  he  was  perfectly  sober. 
So  I  said  :  — 

'What's  the  use  of  grousing  there,  and  speaking 
against  The  Widow  ? ' 

'I  didn't!'  said  Ortheris.  'S'elp  me,  Gawd,  I 
never  said  a  word  agin  'er,  an'  I  wouldn't  —  not 
if  I  was  to  desert  this  minute ! ' 

Here  was  my  opening.  '  Well,  you  meant  to,  any- 
how. What's  the  use  of  cracking-on  for  nothing? 
Would  you  slip  it  now  if  you  got  the  chance  ? ' 

'  On'y  try  me ! '  said  Ortheris,  jumping  to  his 
feet  as  if  he  had  been  stung. 

Mulvaney  jumped  too.  'Fwhat  are  you  going 
to  do?'  said  he. 

'  Help  Ortheris  down  to  Bombay  or  Karachi, 
whichever  he  likes.  You  can  report  that  he  sepa- 
rated from  you  before  tiffin,  and  left  his  gun  on 
the  bank  here ! ' 

'I'm  to  report  that  —  am  I?'  said  Mulvaney 
slowly.  'Very  well.  If  Orth'ris  manes  to  desert 
now,  and  will  desert  now,  an'  you,  Sorr,  who  have 
been  a  frind  to  me  an'  to  him,  will  help  him  tc 
ut,  I,  Terence  Mulvaney,  on  my  oath  which  I've 
never  bruk  yet,  will  report  as  you  say.  But 


THE   MADNESS  OF  PRIVATE  ORTHERIS  199 

here  he  stepped  up  to  Ortheris,  and  shook  the 
stock  of  the  fowling-piece  in  his  face  — '  your  fistes 
help  you,  Stanley  Oxth'ris,  if  ever  I  come  across 
you  agin ! ' 

'  I  don't  care ! '  said  Ortheris.  '  I'm  sick  o'  this 
dorg's  life.  Give  me  a  chanst.  Don't  play  with 
me.  Le'  me  go ! ' 

'Strip,'  said  I,  'and  change  with  me,  and  then  I'll 
tell  you  what  to  do.' 

I  hoped  that  the  absurdity  of  this  would  check 
Ortheris;  but  he  had  kicked  off  his  ammunition- 
boots  and  got  rid  of  his  tunic  almost  before  I  hac? 
loosed  my  shirt-collar.  Mulvaney  gripped  me  b» 
the  arm:  — 

'  The  fit's  on  him :  the  fit's  workin'  on  him  still  * 
By  my  Honour  and  Sowl,  we  shall  be  accessiry  to  -•* 
desartion  yet.  Only  twenty-eight  days,  as  you  say, 
Sorr,  or  fifty-six,  but  think  o'  the  shame  —  the  black 
shame  to  him  an'  me  ! '  I  had  never  seen  Mulvaney 
so  excited. 

But  Ortheris  was  quite  calm,  and,  as  soon  as  he 
had  exchanged  clothes  with  me,  and  I  stood  up  a 
Private  of  the  Line,  he  said  shortly,  '  Now !  Come 
on.  What  nex'  ?  D'ye  mean  fair.  What  must  I 
do  to  get  out  o'  this  'ere  a-Hell  ? ' 

I  told  him  that,  if  he  would  wait  for  two  or  three 
hours  near  the  river,  I  would  ride  into  the  Station 
and  come  back  with  one  hundred  rupees.  He  would, 


800  SOLDIER  STORIES 

with  that  money  in  his  pocket,  walk  to  the  nearest 
side-station  on  the  line,  about  five  miles  away,  and 
would  there  take  a  first-class  ticket  for  Karachi. 
Knowing  that  he  had  no  money  on  him  when  he 
went  out  shooting,  his  regiment  would  not  immedi- 
ately wire  to  the  seaports,  but  would  hunt  for  him 
in  the  native  villages  near  the  river.  Further,  no 
one  would  think  of  seeking  a  deserter  in  a  first-class 
carriage.  At  Karachi,  he  was  to  buy  white  clothes 
and  ship,  if  he  could,  on  a  cargo-steamer. 

Here  he  broke  in.  If  I  helped  him  to  Karachi, 
he  would  arrange  all  the  rest.  Then  I  ordered  him 
to  wait  where  he  was  until  it  was  dark  enough  for 
me  to  ride  into  the  station  without  my  dress  being 
noticed.  Now  God  in  His  wisdom  has  made  the 
heart  of  the  British  Soldier,  who  is  very  often  an 
unlicked  ruffian,  as  soft  as  the  heart  of  a  little  child, 
in  order  that  he  may  believe  in  and  follow  his  officers 
into  tight  and  nasty  places.  He  does  not  so  readily 
come  to  believe  in  a  '  civilian,'  but,  when  he  does,  he 
believes  implicitly  and  like  a  dog.  I  had  had  the 
honour  of  the  friendship  of  Private  Ortheris,  at  inter- 
vals, for  more  than  three  years,  and  we  had  dealt 
with  each  other  as  man  by  man.  Consequently,  he 
considered  that  all  my  words  were  true,  and  not 
spoken  lightly. 

Mulvaney  and  I  left  him  in  the  high  grass  near 
the  river-bank,  and  went  away,  still  keeping  to  the 


We  set  off  at  the  double  and  found  him  plunging  about  wildly  through 
the  grass.  —  p.  201. 


THE  MADNESS  OF  PRIVATE  ORTHERIS  201 

high  grass,  towards  my  horse.  The  shirt  scratched 
me  horribly. 

We  waited  nearly  two  hours  for  the  dusk  to  fall 
and  allow  me  to  ride  off.  We  spoke  of  Ortheris  in 
whispers,  and  strained  our  ears  to  catch  any  sound 
from  the  spot  where  we  had  left  him.  But  we 
heard  nothing  except  the  wind  in  the  plume-grass 

'  I've  bruk  his  head,'  said  Mulvaney  earnestly, 
'time  an'  agin.  I've  nearly  kilt  him  wid  the  belt, 
an'  yet  I  can't  knock  thim  fits  out  av  his  soft  head. 
No  !  An'  he's  not  soft,  for  he's  reasonable  an'  likely 
by  natur'.  Fwhat  is  ut  ?  Is  ut  his  breedin'  which 
is  nothin',  or  his  edukashin  which  he  niver  got? 
You  that  think  ye  know  things,  answer  me  that.' 

But  I  found  no  answer.  I  was  wondering  how 
long  Ortheris,  in  the  bank  of  the  river,  would 
hold  out,  and  whether  I  should  be  forced  to  help 
him  to  desert,  as  I  had  given  my  word. 

Just  as  the  dusk  shut  down  and,  with  a  very 
heavy  heart,  I  was  beginning  to  saddle  up  my 
horse,  we  heard  wild  shouts  from  the  river. 

The  devils  had  departed  from  Private  Stanley 
Ortheris,  No.  22639,  B  company.  The  loneliness, 
the  dusk,  and  the  waiting  had  driven  them  out  as 
I  had  hoped.  We  set  off  at  the  double  and  found 
him  plunging  about  wildly  through  the  grass,  with 
his  coat  off  —  my  coat  off,  I  mean.  He  was  call- 
ing for  us  like  a  madman. 


*02  SOLDIER  STORIES 

When  we  reached  him  he  was  dripping  with 
perspiration,  and  trembling  like  a  startled  horse. 
We  had  great  difficulty  in  soothing  him.  He  com- 
plained that  he  was  in  civilian  kit,  and  wanted  to 
tear  my  clothes  off  his  body.  I  ordered  him  to 
strip,  and  we  made  a  second  exchange  as  quickly 
as  possible. 

The  rasp  of  his  own  'grayback'  shirt  and  the 
squeak  of  his  boots  seemed  to  bring  him  to  him- 
self. He  put  his  hands  before  his  eyes  and  said:  — 

'Wot  was  it?  I  ain't  mad,  I  ain't  sunstrook, 
an'  I've  bin  an'  gone  an'  said,  an*  bin  an'  gone 
an'  done Wot  'ave  I  bin  an'  done!' 

'Fwhat  have  you  done?'  said  Mulvaney.  'You've 
dishgraced  yourself  —  though  that's  no  matter. 
You've  dishgraced  B  comp'ny,  an'  worst  av  all, 
you've  dishgraced  Me!  Me  that  taught  you  how 
for  to  walk  abroad  like  a  man  —  whin  you  was  a 
dhirty  little,  fish-backed  little,  whimperin'  little  re- 
cruity.  As  you  are  now,  Stanley  Orth'ris ! ' 

Ortheris  said  nothing  for  a  while.  Then  he  un- 
slung  his  belt,  heavy  with  the  badges  of  half-a- 
dozen  regiments  that  his  own  had  lain  with,  and 
handed  it  over  to  Mulvaney. 

'I'm  too  little  for  to  mill  you,  Mulvaney,'  said 
he,  'an'  you've  strook  me  before;  but  you  can 
take  an'  cut  me  in  two  with  this  'ere  if  you  like.' 

Mulvaney  turned  to  me. 


THE  MADNESS  OF  PRIVATE  ORTHERIS 


103 


'  Lave  me  to  talk  to  him,  Sorr,'   said  Mulvaney. 

I  left,  and  on  my  way  home  thought  a  good 
deal  over  Ortheris  in  particular,  and  my  friend 
Private  Thomas  Atkins,  whom  I  love,  in  general. 

But  I  could  not  come  to  any  conclusion  of  any 
kind  whatever. 


IHE  COUNTRY  LITE  PRIM 
GAXDSB  CITY,  M .  T. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


315 


mUMi.f£!!!'.?  ?.!ftional  library  Facility 


